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.  OF  CALIF.  LIBRARY.  LOS  ANGELES 


The  Only  Woman  in  the  Town 


Hnfr  0tber  Gales  of  tbe 
,  Hmerican  IRevolutton . 


BY 

SARAH   J.   PRICHARD 

Author  of  tbe  History  of  Waterbury,  1674-1783 


PUBLISHED  BY 

MELICENT  PORTER  CHAPTER 

DAUGHTERS  OF  THE  AMERICAN  REVOLUTION 

WATERBURY,  CONN. 

1898 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1898 

By  the  MELICENT  PORTER  CHAPTER 

Daughters  of  the  American  Revolution, 

In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington 


PREFACE 


The  celebration  of  the  Centennial  Anniversary  of 
the  United  States  at  the  city  of  Philadelphia  in  1876, 
and  the  exhibit  there  made  of  that  nation's  wonder- 
ful growth  and  progress,  gave  a  new  and  remarkable 
impulse  to  the  germs  of  patriotism  in  American  life. 
The  following  tales  of  the  American  Revolution — 
with  the  exception  of  the  last — were  written  twenty- 
two  years  ago,  and  are  the  outcome  of  an  interest 
then  awakened.  They  all  appeared  in  magazines 
and  other  publications  of  that  period,  from  which 
they  have  been  gathered  into  this  volume,  in  the 
hope  that  thereby  patriotism  may  grow  stronger  in 
the  children  of  to-day. 


2132154 


CONTENTS 


The  Only  Woman  in  the  Town,          .  9 

A  Windham  Lamb  in  Boston  Town,          ....  38 
How  One  Boy  Helped  the   British  Troops   Out   of 

Boston  in  1776, 47 

Pussy  Dean's  Beacon  Fire, 67 

David  Bushnell  and  His  American  Turtle,        .        .  75 

The  Birthday  of  Our  Nation, 117 

The  Overthrow  of  the  Statue  of  King  George,         .  127 

Sleet  and  Snow, 135 

i 

Patty  Rutter ;  the  Quaker  Doll  who  slept  in   Inde- 
pendence Hall 151 

Becca  Blackstone's  Turkeys  at  Valley  Forge,   .        .  159 

How  Two  Little  Stockings  Saved  Fort  Safety,         .  169 

A  Day  and  a  Night  in  the  Old  Porter  House,         .  181 


THE  ONLY  WOMAN  IN  THE  TOWN. 


|NE  hundred  years  and  one  ago,  in 
Boston,  at  ten  of  the  clock  one  April 
night,  a  church  steeple  had  been 
climbed  and  a  lantern  hung  out. 

At  ten,  the  same  night,  in  mid-river  of  the 
Charles,  oarsmen  two,  with  passenger  silent  and 
grim,  had  seen  the  signal  light  out-swung,  and 
rowed  with  speed  for  the  Charlestown  shore. 

At  eleven,  the  moon  was  risen,  and  the  grim 
passenger,  Paul  Revere,  had  ridden  up  the  Neck, 
encountered  a  foe,  who  opposed  his  ride  into  the 
country,  and,  after  a  brief  delay,  had  gone  on, 
leaving  a  British  officer  lying  in  a  clay  pit. 

At  midnight,  a  hundred  ears  had  heard  the 
flying  horseman  cry,  "  Up  and  arm.  The  Regu- 
lars are  coming  out !  " 

You  know  the  story  well.  You  have  heard 
how  the  wild  alarm  ran  from  voice  to  voice  and 
echoed  beneath  every  roof,  until  the  men  of  Lex- 
ington and  Concord  were  stirred  and  aroused 
with  patriotic  fear  for  the  safety  of  the  public 
stores  that  had  been  committed  to  their  keeping. 

You  know  how,  long  ere  the  chill  April  day 
began  to  dawn,  they  had  drawn,  by  horse  power 
and  by  hand  power,  the  cherished  stores  into 


io  The  Only  Woman  in  the  Town. 

safe  hiding-places  in  the  depth  of  friendly  forest- 
coverts. 

There  is  one  thing  about  that  day  that  you 
have  not  heard  and  I  will  tell  you  now.  It  is, 
how  one  little  woman  staid  in  the  town  of  Con- 
cord, whence  all  the  women  save  her  had  fled. 

All  the  houses  that  were  standing  then,  are 
very  old-fashioned  now,  but  there  was  one  dwell- 
ing-place on  Concord  Common  that  was  old- 
fashioned  even  then  !  It  was  the  abode  of  Martha 
Moulton  and  "  Uncle  John."  Just  who  "  Uncle 
John  "  was,  is  not  known  to  the  writer,  but  he 
was  probably  Martha  Moulton's  uncle.  The 
uncle,  it  appears  by  record,  was  eighty-five  years 
old;  while  the  niece  was  only  three-score  and 
eleven. 

Once  and  again  that  morning,  a  friendly  hand 
had  pulled  the  latch-string  at  Martha  Moulton's 
kitchen  entrance  and  offered  to  convey  herself 
and  treasures  away,  but,  to  either  proffer,  she  had 
said :  "  No,  I  must  stay  until  Uncle  John  gets  the 
cricks  out  of  his  back,  if  all  the  British  soldiers  in 
the  land  march  into  town. " 

At  last,  came  Joe  Devins,  a  lad  of  fifteen  years — 
Joe's  two  astonished  eyes  peered  for  a  moment 
into  Martha  Moulton's  kitchen,  and  then  eyes  and 
owner  dashed  into  the  room,  to  learn  what  the 
sight  he  there  saw  could  mean. 

"  Whew  !  Mother  Moulton,  what  are  you 
doing?" 

"  I'm  getting  Uncle  John  his   breakfast  to  be 


The  Only  Woman  in  the  Town.  n 

sure,  Joe,"  she  answered.  "  Have  you  seen  so 
many  sights  this  morning  that  you  don't  know 
breakfast,  when  you  see  it?  Have  a  care  there, 
for  hot  fat  will  burn,"  as  she  deftly  poured  the 
contents  of  a  pan,  fresh  from  the  fire,  into  a  dish. 

Hungry  Joe  had  been  astir  since  the  first  drum 
had  beat  to  arms  at  two  of  the  clock.  He  gave 
one  glance  at  the  boiling  cream  and  the  slices  of 
crisp  pork  swimming  in  it,  as  he  gasped  forth  the 
words,  "  Getting  breakfast  in  Concord  this  morn- 
ing !  Mother  Moulton,  you  must  be  crazy." 

"  So  they  tell  me,"  she  said,  serenely.  "  There 
comes  Uncle  John  !  "  she  added,  as  the  clatter  of 
a  staff  on  the  stone  steps  of  the  stairway  outrang, 
for  an  instant,  the  cries  of  hurrying  and  confusion 
that  filled  the  air  of  the  street. 

"  Don't  you  know,  Mother  Moulton,"  Joe  went 
on  to  say,  "  that  every  single  woman  and  child 
have  been  carried  off,  where  the  Britishers  won't 
find  'em?" 

"  I  don't  believe  the  king's  troops  have  stirred 
out  of  Boston,"  she  replied,  going  to  the  door 
leading  to  the  stone  staircase,  to  open  it  for  Uncle 
John. 

"  Don't  believe  it  ? "  and  Joe  looked,  as  he 
echoed  the  words,  as  though  only  a  boy  could 
feel  sufficient  disgust  at  such  a  want  of  common 
sense,  in  full  view  of  the  fact,  that  Reuben  Brown 
had  just  brought  the  news  that  eight  men  had 
been  killed  by  the  king's  Red  Coats  in  Lexington, 
which  fact  he  made  haste  to  impart. 


12  The  Only  Woman  in  the  Town. 

"  I  won't  believe  a  word  of  it,"  she  said,  stoutly, 
"  until  I  see  the  soldiers  coming." 

"Ah!  Hear  that!  "  cried  Joe,  tossing  back  his 
hair  and  swinging  his  arms  triumphantly  at  an 
airy  foe.  "  You  won't  have  to  wait  long.  That 
signal  is  for  the  minute  men.  They  are  going  to 
march  out  to  meet  the  Red  Coats.  Wish  I  was  a 
minute  man,  this  minute." 

Meanwhile,  poor  Uncle  John  was  getting  down 
the  steps  of  the  stairway,  with  many  a  grimace 
and  groan.  As  he  touched  the  floor,  Joe,  his  face 
beaming  with  excitement  and  enthusiasm,  sprang 
to  place  a  chair  for  him  at  the  table,  saying, 
"  Good  morning,"  at  the  same  moment. 

"May  be,"  groaned  Uncle  John,  "youngsters 
like  you  may  think  it  is  a  good  morning,  but  1 dont. 
Such  a  din  and  clatter  as  the  fools  have  kept  up  all 
night  long.  If  I  had  the  power"  (and  now  the 
poor  old  man  fairly  groaned  with  rage),  "  I'd  make 
'em  quiet  long  enough  to  let  an  old  man  get  a  wink 
of  sleep,  when  the  rheumatism  lets  go." 

"  I'm  real  sorry  for  you,"  said  Joe,  "  but  you 
don't  know  the  news.  The  king's  troops,  from 
camp,  in  Boston,  are  marching  right  down  here, 
to  carry  off  all  our  arms  that  they  can  find. 

"Are  they?"  was  the  sarcastic  rejoinder.  "It's 
the  best  news  I've  heard  in  a  long  while.  Wish 
they  had  my  arms,  this  minute.  They  wouldn't 
carry  them  a  step  further  than  they  could  help,  I 
know.  Run  and  tell  them  that  mine  are  ready. 
Joe." 


The  Only  Woman  in  the  Town.  13 

"  But,  Uncle  John,  wait  until  after  breakfast, 
you'll  want  to  use  them  once  more,"  said  Martha 
Moulton,  trying-  to  help  him  into  a  chair  that  Joe 
had  placed  on  the  white  sanded  floor. 

Meanwhile,  Joe  Devins  had  ears  for  all  the 
sounds  that  penetrated  the  kitchen  from  out  of 
doors,  and  he  had  eyes  for  the  slices  of  well- 
browned  pork  and  the  golden-hued  Johnny-cake  ly- 
ing before  the  glowing  coals  on  the  broad  hearth. 

As  the  little  woman  bent  to  take  up  the  break- 
fast, Joe,  intent  on  doing  some  kindness  for  her  in 
the  way  of  saving  treasures,  asked,  "  Sha'n't  I  help 
you,  Mother  Moulton  ?  " 

"  I  reckon  I  am  not  so  old  that  I  can't  lift  a  mite 
of  corn-bread,"  she  replied  with  chilling  severity. 

"  Oh,  I  didn't  mean  to  lift  that  thing"  he  made 
haste  to  explain,  "  but  to  carry  off  things  and  hide 
'em  away,  as  everybody  else  has  been  doing  half 
the  night.  1  know  a  first-rate  place  up  in  the 
woods.  Used  to  be  a  honey  tree,  you  know,  and 
it's  just  as  hollow  as  anything.  Silver  spoons  and 
things  would  be  just  as  safe  in  it — "  but  Joe's 
words  were  interrupted  by  unusual  tumult  on  the 
street  and  he  ran  off  to  learn  the  news,  intending 
to  return  and  get  the  breakfast  that  had  been 
offered  to  him. 

Presently  he  rushed  back  to  the  house  with 
cheeks  aflame  and  eyes  ablaze  with  excitement. 
"  They're  coming  !  "  he  cried.  "  They're  in  sight 
down  by  the  rocks.  They  see  'em  marching,  the 
men  on  the  hill  do  !  " 


14  The  Only  Woman  in  the  Town. 

"  You  don't  mean  that  it's  really  true  that  the 
soldiers  are  coming  here,  right  into  our  town  !  " 
cried  Martha  Moulton,  rising  in  haste  and  bring- 
ing together,  with  rapid  flourishes  to  right  and  to 
left,  every  fragment  of  silver  on  it.  Divining  her 
intent,  Uncle  John  strove  to  hold  fast  his  indi- 
vidual spoon,  but  she  twitched  it  without  cere- 
mony out  from  his  rheumatic  old  fingers,  and  ran 
next  to  the  parlor  cupboard,  wherein  lay  her 
movable  treasures. 

"What  in  the  world  shall  I  do  with  them?"  she 
cried,  returning  with  her  apron  well  filled,  and 
borne  down  by  the  weight  thereof. 

"  Give  'em  to  me,"  cried  Joe.  "  Here's  a  bas- 
ket. Drop  'em  in,  and  I'll  run  like  a  brush-fire 
through  the  town  and  across  the  old  bridge,  and 
hide  'em  as  safe  as  a  weasel's  nap." 

Joe's  fingers  were  creamy ;  his  mouth  was  half 
filled  with  Johnny-cake,  and  his  pocket  on  the 
right  bulged  to  its  utmost  capacity  with  the  same, 
as  he  held  forth  the  basket ;  but  the  little  woman 
was  afraid  to  trust  him,  as  she  had  been  afraid  to 
trust  her  neighbors. 

"  No!  No  !"  she  replied,  to  his  repeated  offers. 
"  I  know  what  I'll  do.  You,  Joe  Devins,  stay 
right  where  you  are  until  I  come  back,  and,  don't 
you  even  look  out  of  the  window." 

"  Dear,  dear  me ! "  she  cried,  flushed  and 
anxious  when  she  was  out  of  sight  of  Uncle 
John  and  Joe.  I  wish  I'd  given  'em  to  Colonel 
Barrett  when  he  was  here  before  daylight, 


The  Only  Woman  in  the  Town.  15 

only,  I  was  afraid  I  should  never  get  sight  of 
them  again. 

She  drew  off  one  of  her  stockings,  filled  it,  tied 
the  opening  at  the  top  with  a  string — plunged 
stocking  and  all  into  a  pail  full  of  water  and  pro- 
ceeded to  pour  the  contents  into  the  well. 

Just  as  the  dark  circle  had  closed  over  the  blue 
stocking,  Joe  Devins'  face  peered  down  the  depths 
by  her  side,  and  his  voice  sounded  out  the  words: 
"  O  Mother  Moulton,  the  British  will  search  the 
wells  the  very  first  thing.  Of  course,  they  expect 
to  find  things  in  wells  !  " 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me  before,  Joe?  but  now 
it  is  too  late." 

"  I  would,  if  I  had  known  what  you  was  going 
to  do;  they'd  been  a  sight  safer  in  the  honey 
tree." 

"  Yes,  and  what  a  fool  I've  been — flung  my  watch 
into  the  well  with  the  spoons!" 

"  Well,  well!  Don't  stand  there,  looking!"  as 
she  hovered  over  the  high  curb,  with  her  hand  on 
the  "bucket.  Everybody  will  know,  if  you  do." 

"Martha!  Martha!"  shrieked  Uncle  John's 
quavering  voice  from  the  house  door. 

"Bless  my  heart!"  she  exclaimed,  hurrying 
back  over  the  stones. 

"What's  the  matter  with  your  heart?"  ques- 
tioned Joe. 

"  Nothing.  I  was  thinking  of  Uncle  John's 
money,"  she  answered. 

"  Has  he  got  money  ?  "  cried  Joe.     "  I  thought 


1 6  The  Only  Woman  in  the  Town. 

he  was  poor,  and  you  took  care  of  him  because 
you  were  so  good  !  " 

Not  one  word  that  Joe  uttered  did  the  little 
woman  hear.  She  was  already  by  Uncle  John's 
side  and  asking  him  for  the  key  to  his  strong  box. 

Uncle  John's  rheumatism  was  terribly  exasper- 
ating. "  No,  I  won't  give  it  to  you !  "  he  cried, 
"  and  nobody  shall  have  it  as  long  as  I  am  above 
ground." 

"  Then  the  soldiers  will  carry  it  off,"  she  said. 

"  Let  'em  ! "  was  his  reply,  grasping  his  staff 
firmly  with  both  hands  and  gleaming  defiance  out 
of  his  wide,  pale  eyes.  "  You  won't  get  the  key, 
even  if  they  do." 

At  this  instant,  a  voice  at  the  doorway  shouted 
the  words,  "  Hide,  hide  away  somewhere,  Mother 
Moulton,  for  the  Red  Coats  are  in  sight  this  min- 
ute !  " 

She  heard  the  warning,  and  giving  one  glance 
at  Uncle  John,  which  look  was  answered  by 
another  "No,  you  won't  have  it,"  she  grasped 
Joe  Devins  by  the  collar  of  his  jacket  and  thrust 
him  before  her  up  the  staircase  so  quickly  that 
the  boy  had  no  chance  to  speak,  until  she  released 
her  hold,  on  the  second  floor,  at  the  entrance  to 
Uncle  John's  room. 

The  idea  of  being  taken  a  prisoner  in  such  a 
manner,  and  by  a  woman,  too,  was  too  much  for 
the  lad's  endurance.  "  Let  me  go  ! "  he  cried, 
the  instant  he  could  recover  his  breath.  "  I  won't 
hide  away  in  your  garret,  like  a  woman,  I  won't. 


The  Only  Woman  in  the  Town.  17 

I  want  to  see  the  militia  and  the  minute  men  fight 
the  troops,  I  do." 

"  Help  me  first,  Joe.  Here,  quick  now  !  Let's 
get  this  box  out  and  up  garret.  We'll  hide  it 
under  the  corn  and  it'll  be  safe,"  she  coaxed. 

The  box  was  under  Uncle  John's  bed. 

"  What's  in  the  old  thing  anyhow?  "  questioned 
Joe,  pulling  with  all  his  strength  at  it. 

The  box,  or  chest,  was  painted  red,  and  was 
bound  about  by  massive  iron  bands. 

"  I've  never  seen  the  inside  of  it,"  said  Mother 
Moulton.  "  It  holds  the  poor  old  soul's  sole 
treasure,  and  I  do  want  to  save  it  for  him  if  I  can.  " 

They  had  drawn  it  with  much  hard  endeavor  as 
far  as  the  garret  stairs,  but  their  united  strength 
failed  to  lift  it.  "  Heave  it,  now!  "  cried  Joe,  and 
lo!  it  was  up  two  steps.  So  they  turned  it  over 
and  over  with  many  a  thudding  thump ; — every  one 
of  which  thumps  Uncle  John  heard  and  believed 
to  be  strokes  upon  the  box  itself  to  burst  it  asunder 
— until  it  was  fairly  shelved  on  the  garret  floor. 

In  the  very  midst  of  the  overturnings,  a  voice 
from  below  had  been  heard  crying  out,  "  Let  my 
box  alone  !  Don't  you  break  it  open  !  If  you  do, 
I'll — I'll — "  but,  whatever  the  poor  man  meant  to 
threaten  as  a  penalty,  he  could  not  think  of  any- 
thing half  severe  enough  to  say,  so  left  it  uncertain 
as  to  the  punishment  that  might  be  looked  for. 

"  Poor  old  soul !  "  ejaculated  the  little  woman, 
her  soft  white  curls  in  disorder  and  the  pink  color 
rising  from  her  cheeks  to  her  fair  forehead,  as  she 


1 8  The  Only  Woman  in  the  Town. 

bent  to  help  Joe  drag  the  box  beneath  the  rafter's 
edge. 

"  Now,  Joe, "  she  said,  "  we'll  heap  nubbins 
over  it,  and  if  the  soldiers  want  corn  they'll  take 
good  ears  and  never  think  of  touching  poor 
nubbins.  So  they  fell  to  work  throwing  corn  over 
the  red  chest,  until  it  was  completely  concealed 
from  view. 

Then  Joe  sprang  to  the  high-up-window  ledge  in 
the  point  of  the  roof  and  took  one  glance  out. 
"  Oh,  I  see  them,  the  Red  Coats  !  '  Strue's  I  live, 
there  go  our  militia  up  the  /till.  I  thought  they 
was  going  to  stand  and  defend.  Shame  on  'em,  I 
say!  "  Jumping  down  and  crying  back  to  Mother 
Moulton,  "  I'm  going  to  stand  by  the  minute 
men, "  he  went  down,  three  steps  at  a  leap,  and 
nearly  overturned  Uncle  John  on  the  stairs,  who, 
with  many  groans,  was  trying  to  get  to  the  defense 
of  his  strong  box. 

"What  did  you  help  her  for,  you  scamp?"  he 
demanded  of  Joe,  flourishing  his  staff  unpleasantly 
near  the  lad's  head. 

"'Cause  she  asked  me  to,  and  couldn't  do  it 
alone, "  returned  Joe,  dodging  the  stick  and 
disappearing  from  the  scene  at  the  very  moment 
Martha  Moulton  encountered  Uncle  John. 

"Your  strong  box  is  safe  under  nubbins  in  the 
garret,  unless  the  house  burns  down,  and  now  that 
you  are  up  here,  you  had  better  stay,  "  she  added 
soothingly,  as  she  hastened  by  him  to  reach  the 
kitchen  below. 


The  Only  Woman  in  the  Town.  19 

Once  there,  she  paused  a  second  or  two  to  take 
resolution  regarding  her  next  act.  She  knew  full 
well  that  there  was  not  one  second  to  spare,  and 
yet  she  stood  looking,  apparently,  into  the  glow- 
ing embers  on  the  hearth.  She  was  flushed  and 
excited,  both  by  the  unwonted  toil  and  the 
coming  events.  Cobwebs  from  the  rafters  had 
fallen  on  her  hair  and  homespun  dress,  and  would 
readily  have  betrayed  her  late  occupation  to  any 
discerning  soldier  of  the  king. 

A  smile  broke  suddenly  over  her  fair  face, 
displacing  for  a  brief  second  every  trace  of  care. 
"  It's  my  old  weapon,  and  I  must  use  it,  "  she  said, 
making  a  stately  courtesy  to  an  imaginary  guest, 
and  straightway  disappeared  within  an  adjoining 
room.  With  buttoned  door  and  dropped  curtains 
the  little  woman  made  haste  to  array  herself  in  her 
finest  raiment.  In  five  minutes  she  reappeared  in 
the  kitchen,  a  picture  pleasant  to  look  at.  In  all 
New  England,  there  could  not  be  a  more  beautiful 
little  old  lady  than  Martha  Moulton  was  that  day. 
Her  hair  was  guiltless  now  of  cobwebs,  but  haloed 
her  face  with  fluffy  little  curls  of  silvery  whiteness, 
above  which,  like  a  crown,  was  a  little  cap  of 
dotted  muslin,  pure  as  snow.  Her  erect  figure, 
not  a  particle  of  the  hard-working-day  in  it  now, 
carried  well  the  folds  of  a  sheeny,  black  silk  gown, 
over  which  she  had  tied  an  apron  as  spotless  as 
the  cap. 

As  she  fastened  back  her  gown  and  hurried 
away  the  signs  of  the  breakfast  she  had  not  eaten, 


20  The  Only  Woman  in  the  Town. 

the  clear  pink  tints  seemed  to  come  out  with 
added  beauty  of  coloring  in  her  cheeks,  while  her 
hair  seemed  fairer  and  whiter  than  at  any  moment 
in  her  three-score  and  eleven  years. 

Once  more,  Joe  Devins  looked  in.  As  he  caught 
a  glimpse  of  the  picture  she  made,  he  paused  to 
cry  out:  "All  dressed  up  to  meet  the  robbers! 
My,  how  fine  you  do  look !  I  wouldn't.  I'd  go 
and  hide  behind  the  nubbins.  They'll  be  here  in 
less  than  five  minutes  now,"  he  cried,  "and  I'm 
going  over  the  North  Bridge  to  see  what's  going 
on  there.  " 

"  O  Joe,  stay,  won't  you  ?  "  she  urged,  but  the 
lad  was  gone,  and  she  was  left  alone  to  meet  the 
foe,  comforting  herself  with  the  thought,  "  They'll 
treat  me  with  more  respect  if  I  look  respectable, 
and  if  I  must  die,  I'll  die  good-looking  in  my  best 
clothes,  anyhow. " 

She  threw  a  few  sticks  of  hickory-wood  on  the 
embers  and  then  drew  out  the  little  round  stand, 
on  which  the  family  Bible  was  always  lying. 
Recollecting  that  the  British  soldiers  probably 
belonged  to  the  Church  of  England,  she  hurried 
away  to  fetch  Uncle  John's  "  prayer  book.  " 

"They'll  have  respect  to  me,  if  they  find  me 
reading  that,  I  know, "  she  thought.  Having 
drawn  the  round  stand  within  sight  of  the  well, 
and  where  she  could  also  command  a  view  of  the 
staircase,  she  sat  and  waited  for  coming  events. 

Uncle  John  was  keeping  watch  of  the  advancing 
troops  from  an  upper  window.  "Martha,"  he 


The  Only  Woman  in  the  Town.  2 1 

called,  "  you'd  better  come  up.  They're  close 
by,  now."  To  tell  the  truth,  Uncle  John  himself 
was  a  little  afraid  ;  that  is  to  say,  he  hadn't  quite 
courage  enough  to  go  down  and,  perhaps,  encoun- 
ter his  own  rheumatism  and  the  king's  soldiers  on 
the  same  stairway,  and  yet,  he  felt  that  he  must 
defend  Martha  as  well  as  he  could. 

The  rap  of  a  musket,  quick  and  ringing,  on  the 
front  door,  startled  the  little  woman  from  her 
apparent  devotions.  She  did  not  move  at  the 
call  of  anything  so  profane.  It  was  the  custom  of 
the  time  to  have  the  front  door  divided  into  two 
parts,  the  lower  half  and  the  upper  half.  The  for- 
mer was  closed  and  made  fast,  the  upper  could  be 
swung  open  at  will. 

The  soldier  getting  no  reply,  and  doubtless 
thinking  that  the  house  was  deserted,  leaped  over 
the  chained  lower  half  of  the  door. 

At  the  clang  of  his  bayonet  against  the  brass 
trimmings,  Martha  Moulton  groaned  in  spirit,  for, 
if  there  was  any  one  thing  that  she  deemed  essen- 
tial to  her  comfort  in  this  life,  it  was  to  keep  spot- 
less, speckless  and  in  every  way  unharmed,  the 
great  knocker  on  her  front  door. 

"  Good,  sound  English  metal,  too,"  she  thought, 
"  that  an  English  soldier  ought  to  know  how  to 
respect." 

As  she  heard  the  tramp  of  coming  feet  she  only 
bent  the  closer  over  the  Book  of  Prayer  that  lay 
open  on  her  knee.  Not  one  word  did  she  read  or 
see;  she  was  inwardly  trembling  and  outwardly 


22  The  Only  Woman  in  the  Town. 

watching  the  well  and  the  staircase.  But  now, 
above  all  other  sounds,  broke  the  noise  of  Uncle 
John's  staff  thrashing  the  upper  step  of  the  stair- 
case, and  the  shrill,  tremulous  cry  of  the  old  man, 
defiant,  doing  his  utmost  for  the  defense  of  his 
castle. 

The  fingers  that  lay  beneath  the  book  tingled 
with  desire  to  box  the  old  man's  ears,  for  the  pol- 
icy he  was  pursuing  would  be  fatal  to  the  treas- 
ure in  garret  and  in  well ;  but  she  was  forced  to 
silence  and  inactivity. 

As  the  king's  troops,  Major  Pitcairn  at  their 
head,  reached  the  open  door  and  saw  the  old  lady, 
they  paused.  What  could  they  do  but  look,  for  a 
moment,  at  the  unexpected  sight  that  met  their 
view:  a  placid  old  lady  in  black  silk  and  dotted 
muslin,  with  all  the  sweet  solemnity  of  morning 
devotion  hovering  about  the  tidy  apartment  and 
seeming  to  centre  at  the  round  stand  by  which  she 
sat, — this  pretty  woman,  with  pink  and  white  face 
surmounted  with  fleecy  little  curls  and  crinkles 
and  wisps  of  floating  whiteness,  who  looked  up  to 
meet  their  gaze  with  such  innocent,  prayer-suf- 
fused eyes. 

"Good  morning,  Mother,"  said  Major  Pitcairn, 
raising  his  hat. 

"  Good  morning,  gentlemen  and  soldiers,"  re- 
turned Martha  Moulton.  "  You  will  pardon  my 
not  meeting  you  at  the  door,  when  you  see  that  I 
was  occupied  in  rendering  service  to  the  Lord  of 
all."  She  reverently  closed  the  book,  laid  it  on 


The  Only  Woman  in  the  Town.  23 

the  table,  and   arose,  with  a  stately  bearing,    to 
demand  their  wishes. 

"  We're  hungry,  good  woman,"  spoke  the  com- 
mander," and  your  hearth  is  the  only  hospitable 
one  we've  seen  since  we  left  Boston.  With  your 
good  leave  I'll  take  a  bit  of  this,  and  he  stooped 
to  lift  up  the  Johnny-cake  that  had  been  all  this 
while  on  the  hearth. 

"  I  wish  I  had  something  better  to  offer  you," 
she  said,  making  haste  to  fetch  plates  and  knives 
from  the  corner-cupboard,  and  all  the  while  she 
was  keeping  eye-guard  over  the  well.  "  I'm 
afraid  the  Concorders  haven't  left  much  for  you 
to-day,"  she  added,  with  a  soft  sigh  of  regret,  as 
though  she  really  felt  sorry  that  such  brave  men 
and  good  soldiers  had  fallen  on  hard  times  in  the 
ancient  town.  At  the  moment  she  had  brought 
forth  bread  and  baked  beans,  and  was  putting 
them  on  the  table,  a  voice  rang  into  the  room, 
causing  every  eye  to  turn  toward  Uncle  John. 
He  had  gotten  down  the  stairs  without  uttering 
one  audible  groan,  and  was  standing,  one  step 
above  the  floor  of  the  room,  brandishing  and 
whirling  his  staff  about  in  a  manner  to  cause 
even  rheumatism  to  flee  the  place,  while  at  the 
top  of  his  voice  he  cried  out: 

"  Martha  Moulton,  how  dare  you  feed  these — 
these — monsters — in  human  form  ?  " 

"  Don't  mind  him,  gentlemen,  please  don't," 
she  made  haste  to  say ;  "  he's  old,  very  old ; 
eighty-five,  his  last  birthday,  and — a  little  hoity- 


24  The  Only  Woman  in  the  Town. 

toity  at  times,"  pointing  deftly  with  her  finger 
in  the  region  of  the  reasoning  powers  in  her 
own  shapely  head. 

Summoning  Major  Pitcairn  by  an  offer  of  a 
dish  of  beans,  she  contrived  to  say,  under  cover 
of  it: 

"  You  see,  sir,  I  couldn't  go  away  and  leave  him; 
he  is  almost  distracted  with  rheumatism,  and 
this  excitement  to-day  will  kill  him,  I'm  afraid." 

Advancing  toward  the  staircase  with  bold  and 
soldierly  front,  Major  Pitcairn  said  to  Uncle  John : 

"  Stand  aside,  old  man,  and  we'll  hold  you 
harmless." 

"  I  don't  believe  you  will,  you  red-trimmed 
trooper,  you,"  was  the  reply  ;  and,  with  a  dexter- 
ous swing  of  the  wooden  staff,  he  mowed  off  and 
down  three  military  hats. 

Before  any  one  had  time  to  speak,  Martha 
Moulton,  adroitly  stooping,  as  though  to  recover 
Major  Pitcairn's  hat,  which  had  rolled  to  her  feet, 
swung  the  stairway-door  into  its  place  with  a 
resounding  bang,  and  followed  up  that  achieve- 
ment with  a  swift  turn  of  two  large  wooden 
buttons,  one  high  up,  and  the  other  low  down,  on 
the  door. 

"  There  !  "  she  said,  "  he  is  safe  out  of  mischief 
for  a  while,  and  your  heads  are  safe  as  well.  Par- 
don a  poor  old  man,  who  does  not  know  what  he 
is  about." 

"  He  seems  to  know  remarkably  well,"  ex- 
claimed an  officer. 


The  Only  Woman  in  the  Town.  25 

Meanwhile,  behind  the  strong  door,  Uncle 
John's  wrath  knew  no  bounds.  In  his  frantic 
endeavors  to  burst  the  fastenings  of  the  wooden 
buttons,  rheumatic  cramps  seized  him  and  carried 
the  day,  leaving-  him  out  of  the  battle.- 

Meanwhile,  a  company  of  soldiers  clustered 
about  the  door.  The  king's  horses  were  fed  with- 
in five  feet  of  the  great  brass  knocker,  while, 
within  the  house,  the  beautiful  little  old  woman, 
in  her  Sunday-best-raiment,  tried  to  do  the  dismal 
honors  of  the  day  to  the  foes  of  her  country. 
Watching  her,  one  would  have  thought  she  was 
entertaining  heroes  returned  from  the  achieve- 
ment of  valiant  deeds,  whereas,  in  her  own  heart, 
she  knew  full  well  that  she  was  giving  a  little,  to 
save  much. 

Nothing  could  exceed  the  seeming  alacrity 
with  which  she  fetched  water  from  the  well  for 
the  officers  :  and,  when  Major  Pitcairn  gallantly 
ordered  his  men  to  do  the  service,  the  little  soul 
was  in  alarm  ;  she  was  so  afraid  that  "  somehow, 
in  some  way  or  another,  the  blue  stocking  would 
get  hitched  on  to  the  bucket."  She  knew  that 
she  must  to  its  rescue,  and  so  she  bravely 
acknowledged  herself  to  have  taken  a  vow  (when, 
she  did  not  say),  to  draw  all  the  water  that  was 
taken  from  that  well. 

"  A  remnant  of  witchcraft !  "  remarked  a  soldier 
within  hearing. 

"  Do  I  look  like  a  witch  ?  "   she  demanded. 

"  If  you  do,"  replied  Major  Pitcairn,  "  I  admire 

3 


2  6  The  Only  Woman  in  the  Town. 

New  England  witches,  and  never  would  condemn 
one  to  be  hung,  or  burned,  or — smothered." 

Martha  Moulton  never  wore  so  brilliant  a  color 
on  her  aged  cheeks  as  at  that  moment.  She  felt 
bitter  shame  at  the  ruse  she  had  attempted,  but 
silver  spoons  were  precious,  and,  to  escape  the 
smile  that  went  around  at  Major  Pitcairn's  words, 
she  was  only  too  glad  to  go  again  to  the  well  and 
dip  slowly  the  high,  over-hanging  sweep  into  the 
cool,  clear,  dark  depth  below. 

During  this  time  the  cold,  frosty  morning 
spent  itself  into  the  brilliant,  shining  noon. 

You  know  what  happened  at  Concord  on  that 
1 9th  of  April  in  the  year  1775.  You  have  been 
told  the  story — how  the  men  of  Acton  met  and 
resisted  the  king's  troops  at  the  old  North  Bridge ; 
how  brave  Captain  Davis  and  minute-man  Hosmer 
fell ;  how  the  sound  of  their  falling  struck  down 
to  the  very  heart  of  mother  earth,  and  caused  her 
to  send  forth  her  brave  sons  to  cry  "  Liberty,  or 
Death !  " 

And  the  rest  of  the  story  ;  the  sixty  or  more 
barrels  of  flour  that  the  king's  troops  found  and 
struck  the  heads  from,  leaving  the  flour  in  condi- 
tion to  be  gathered  again  at  nightfall,  the  arms 
and  powder  that  they  destroyed,  the  houses  they 
burned  ;  all  these,  are  they  not  recorded  in  every 
child's  history  in  the  land  ? 

While  these  things  were  going  on,  for  a  brief 
while,  at  mid-day,  Martha  Moulton  found  her 
home  deserted.  She  had  not  forgotten  poor, 


The  Only  Woman  in  the  Town.  27 

suffering-,  irate  Uncle  John  in  the  regions  above, 
and  so,  the  very  minute  she  had  the  chance,  she 
made  a  strong  cup  of  catnip  tea  (the  real  tea,  you 
know,  was  brewing  in  Boston  harbor). 

She  turned  the  buttons,  and,  with  a  bit  ot 
trembling  at  her  heart,  such  as  she  had  not  felt 
all  day,  she  ventured  up  the  stairs,  bearing 
the  steaming  peace-offering  before  her. 

Uncle  John  was  writhing1  under  the  sharp 
thorns  and  twinges  of  his  old  enemy,  and  in  no 
frame  of  mind  to  receive  any  overtures  in  the 
shape  of  catnip  tea  ;  nevertheless,  he  was  watching1, 
as  well  as  he  was  able,  the  motions  of  the  enemy. 
As  she  drew  near,  he  cried  out: 

"  Look  out  this  window,  and  see  !  Much  good 
all  your  scheming  will  &&  you  !  " 

She  obeyed  his  command  to  look,  and  the  sight 
she  then  saw  caused  her  to  let  fall  the  cup  of 
catnip  tea  and  rush  down  the  stairs,  wringing  her 
hands  as  she  went,  and  crying  out: 

"Oh,  dear!  what  shall  I  do?  The  house  will 
burn  and  the  box  up  garret.  Everything's  lost !  " 

Major  Pitcairn,  at  that  moment,  was  on  the 
green  in  front  of  her  door,  giving  orders. 

Forgetting  the  dignified  part  she  intended  to 
play  ;  forgetting  everything  but  the  supreme  dan- 
ger that  was  hovering  in  mid-air  over  her  home — 
the  old  house  wherein  she  had  been  born,  and  the 
only  home  she  had  ever  known — she  rushed  out 
upon  the  green,  amid  the  troops  and  surrounded 
by  cavalry,  and  made  her  way  to  Major  Pitcairn. 


28  The  Only  Woman  in  the  Town. 

"  The  court-house  is  on  fire  !  "  she  cried,  laying 
her  hand  upon  the  commander's  arm. 

He  turned  and  looked  at  her.  Major  Pitcairn 
had  recently  learned  that  the  task  he  had  been 
set  to  do  in  the  provincial  towns  that  day  was  not 
an  easy  one ;  that,  when  hard  pressed  and  trod- 
den down,  the  despised  rustics,  in  home-spun 
dress,  could  sting  even  English  soldiers  ;  and  thus 
it  happened  that,  when  he  felt  the  touch  of 
Mother  Moulton's  plump  little  old  fingers  on  his 
military  sleeve,  he  was  not  in  the  pleasant  humor 
that  he  had  been  when  the  same  hand  had  minis- 
tered to  his  hunger  in  the  early  morning. 

"Well,  what  of  it?  Let  it  btirn !  We  won't 
hurt  you,  if  you  go  in  the  house  and  stay  there  !  " 

She  turned  and  glanced  up  at  the  court-house. 
Already  flames  were  issuing  from  it.  "  Go  in  the 
house  and  let  it  burn,  indeed!"  thought  she. 
"  He  knows  me,  don't  he?  Oh,  sir!  for  the  love 
of  Heaven  won't  you  stop  it?"  she  said,  entreat- 
ingly. 

"  Run  in  the  house,  good  mother.  That  is  a 
wise  woman,"  he  advised. 

Down  in  her  heart,  and  as  the  very  outcome  ot 
lip  and  brain  she  wanted  to  say,  "  You  needn't 
'  mother '  me,  you  murderous  rascals !  "  but,  re- 
membering everything  that  was  at  stake,  she 
crushed  her  wrath  and  buttoned  it  in  as  closely  as 
she  had  Uncle  John  behind  the  door  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  again,  with  swift  gentleness,  laid  her 
hand  on  his  arm. 


The  Only  Woman  in  the  Town.  29 

He  turned  and  looked  at  her.  Vexed  at  her 
persistence,  and  extremely  annoyed  at  intelligence 
that  had  just  reached  him  from  the  North  Bridge, 
he  said,  imperiously,  "  Get  away  !  or  you'll  be 
trodden  down  by  the  horses  !  " 

"  I  cant  go !  "  she  cried,  clasping  his  arm,  and 
fairly  clinging  to  it  in  her  frenzy  of  excitement. 
"  Oh,  stop  the  fire,  quick,  quick  !  or  my  house  will 
burn!" 

"  I  have  no  time  to  put  out  your  fires,"  he  said, 
carelessly,  shaking  loose  from  her  hold  and  turn- 
ing to  meet  a  messenger  with  news. 

Poor  little  woman  !  What  could  she  do?  The 
wind  was  rising,  and  the  fire  grew.  Flame  was 
creeping  out  in  a  little  blue  curl  in  a  new  place, 
under  the  rafter's  edge,  and  nobody  cared.  That 
was  what  increased  the  pressing  misery  of  it  all. 
It  was  so  unlike  a  common  country  alarm,  where 
everybody  rushed  up  and  down  the  streets,  cry- 
ing "  Fire  !  fire  !  f-i-r-e  !  "  and  went  hurrying  to 
and  fro  for  pails  of  water  to  help  put  it  out. 

Until  that  moment  the  little  woman  did  not 
know  how  utterly  deserted  she  was. 

In  very  despair,  she  ran  to  her  house,  seized 
two  pails,  filled  them  with  greater  haste  than  she 
had  ever  drawn  water  before,  and,  regardless  ot 
Uncle  John's  imprecations,  carried  them  forth, 
one  in  either  hand,  the  water  dripping  carelessly 
down  the  side  breadths  of  her  fair  silk  gown,  her 
silvery  curls  tossed  and  tumbled  in  white  confu- 
sion, her  pleasant  face  aflame  with  eagerness,  and 
her  clear  eyes  suffused  with  tears. 


30  The  Only  Woman  in  the  Town. 

Thus  equipped  with  facts  and  feeling,  she  once 
more  appeared  to  Major  Pitcairn. 

"  Have  you  a  mother  in  old  England  ? "  she 
cried.  "  If  so,  for  her  sake,  stop  this  fire." 

Her  words  touched  his  heart. 

"  And  if  I  do  — ?"  he  answered. 

"  Then  your  johnny-cake  on  my  hearth  wont  burn 
up"  she  said,  with  a  quick  little  smile,  adjusting 
her  cap. 

Major  Pitcairn  laughed,  and  two  soldiers,  at  his 
command,  seized  the  pails  and  made  haste  to  the 
court-house,  followed  by  many  more. 

For  awhile  the  fire  seemed  victorious,  but,  by 
brave  effort,  it  was  finally  overcome,  and  the 
court-house  saved. 

At  a  distance  Joe  Devins  had  noticed  the  smoke 
hovering  like  a  little  cloud,  then  sailing  away  still 
more  like  a  cloud  over  the  town ;  and  he  had 
made  haste  to  the  scene,  arriving  in  time  to  ven- 
ture on  the  roof,  and  do  good  service  there. 

After  the  fire  was  extinguished,  he  thought  of 
Martha  Moulton,  and  he  could  not  help  feeling  a 
bit  guilty  at  the  consciousness  that  he  had  gone 
off  and  left  her  alone. 

Going  to  the  house  he  found  her  entertaining 
the  king's  troopers  with  the  best  food  her  humble 
store  afforded. 

She  was  so  charmed  with  herself,  and  so  utterly 
well  pleased  with  the  success  of  her  pleading, 
that  the  little  woman's  nerves  fairly  quivered 
with  jubilation  ;  and  best  of  all,  the  blue  stocking 


The  Only  Woman  in  the  Town.  31 

was  still  safe  in  the  well,  for  had  she  not  watched 
with  her  own  eyes  every  time  the  bucket  was 
dipped  to  fetch  up  water  for  the  fire,  having, 
somehow,  got  rid  of  the  vow  she  had  taken  re- 
garding the  drawing  of  the  water. 

As  she  saw  the  lad  looking,  with  surprised 
countenance,  into  the  room  where  the  feast  was 
going  on,  a  fear  crept  up  her  own  face  and  darted 
out  from  her  eyes.  It  was,  lest  Joe  Devins  should 
spoil  it  all  by  ill-timed  words. 

She  made  haste  to  meet  him,  basket  in  hand. 

"  Here,  Joe,"  she  said,  "  fetch  me  some  small 
wood,  there's  a  good  boy." 

As  she  gave  him  the  basket  she  was  just  in 
time  to  stop  the  rejoinder  that  was  issuing  from 
his  lips. 

In  time  to  intercept  his  return  she  was  at  the 
wood-pile. 

"Joe,"  she  said,  half-abashed  before  the  truth 
that  shone  in  the  boy's  eyes — "  Joe,"  she  repeated, 
"you  know  Major  Pitcairn  ordered  the  fire  put 
out,  to  please  me,  because  I  begged  him  so,  and,  in 
return,  what  can  I  do  but  give  them  something  to 
eat?  Come  and  help  me." 

"  I  won't,"  responded  he.  "  Their  hands  are 
red  with  blood.  They've  killed  two  men  at  the 
bridge." 

"  Who's  killed?"  she  asked,  trembling,  but  Joe 
would  not  tell  her.  He  demanded  to  know  what 
had  been  done  with  Uncle  John. 

"  He's   quiet   enough,   up-stairs,"   she   replied, 


32  The  Only  Woman  in  the  Town. 

with  a  sudden  spasm  of  feeling  that  she  had  neg- 
lected Uncle  John  shamefully  ;  still,  with  the  day, 
and  the  fire  and  everything,  how  could  she  help 
it?  but,  really,  it  did  seem  strange  that  he  made 
no  noise,  with  a  hundred  armed  men  coming  and 
going  through  the  house. 

At  least,  that  was  what  Joe  thought,  and,  hav- 
ing deposited  the  basket  of  wood  on  the  threshold 
of  the  kitchen  door,  he  departed  around  the  cor- 
ner of  the  house.  Presently  he  had  climbed  a  pear 
tree,  dropped  from  one  of  its  overhanging 
branches  on  the  lean-to,  raised  a  sash  and  crept 
into  the  window. 

Slipping  off  his  shoes,  heavy  with  spring  mud, 
he  proceeded  to  search  for  Uncle  John.  He  was 
not  in  his  own  room  ;  he  was  not  in  the  guest- 
chamber  ;  he  was  not  in  any  one  of  the  rooms. 

On  the  floor,  by  the  window  in  the  hall,  look- 
ing out  upon  the  green,  he  found  the  broken  cup 
and  saucer  that  Martha  Moulton  had  let  fall. 
Having  made  a  second  round,  in  which  he  inves- 
tigated every  closet  and  penetrated  into  the 
spaces  under  beds,  Joe  thought  of  the  garret. 

Tramp,  tramp  went  the  heavy  feet  on  the 
sanded  floors  below,  drowning  every  possible 
sound  from  above  ;  nevertheless,  as  the  lad  opened 
the  door  leading  into  the  garret,  he  whispered 
cautiously  :  "  Uncle  John  !  Uncle  John  !  " 

All  was  silent  above.  Joe  went  up,  and  was 
startled  by  a  groan.  He  had  to  stand  a  few 
seconds,  to  let  the  darkness  grow  into  light,  ere 


The  Only  Woman  in  the  Town.  33 

he  could  see  ;  and,  when  he  could  discern  out- 
lines in  the  dimness,  there  was  given  to  him  the 
picture  of  Uncle  John,  lying  helpless  amid  and 
upon  the  nubbins  that  had  been  piled  over  his 
strong  box. 

"  Why,  Uncle  John,  are  you  dead  ?  "  asked  Joe, 
climbing  over  to  his  side. 

"  Is  the  house  afire?"  was  the  response. 

"  House  afire  ?  No !  The  confounded  Red 
Coats  up  and  put  it  out." 

"  I  thought  they  was  going  to  let  me  burn  to 
death  up  here  !  "  groaned  Uncle  John. 

"Can  I  help  you  up?"  and  Joe  proffered  two 
strong  hands,  rather  black  with  toil  and  smoke. 

"  No,  no !  You  can't  help  me.  If  the  house 
isn't  afire,  I'll  stand  it  till  the  fellows  are  gone, 
and  then,  Joe,  you  fetch  the  doctor  as  quick  as 
you  can." 

"  You  can't  get  a  doctor  for  love  nor  money  this 
night,  Uncle  John.  There's  too  much  work  to  be 
done  in  Lexington  and  Concord  to-night  for 
wounded  and  dying  men  ;  and  there'll  be  more  of 
'em  too  afore  a  single  Red  Coat  sees  Boston  again. 
They'll  be  hunted  down  every  step  of  the  way. 
They've  killed  Captain  Davis,  from  Acton." 

"  You  don't  say  so  !  " 

"  Yes,  they  have,  and  —  " 

"  I  say,  Joe  Devins,  go  down  and  do — do  some- 
thing. There's  my  niece  a-feeding  the  murderers ! 
I'll  disown  her.  She  shan't  have  a  penny  of  my 
pounds,  she  shan't !  " 


34  The  Only  Woman  in  the  Town. 

Both  Joe  and  Uncle  John  were  compelled  to 
remain  in  inaction,  while  below,  the  weary  little 
woman  acted  the  kind  hostess  to  His  Majesty's 
troops. 

But  now  the  feast  was  spent,  and  the  soldiers 
were  summoned  to  begin  their  painful  march. 
Assembled  on  the  green,  all  was  ready,  when 
Major  Pitcairn,  remembering  the  little  woman 
who  had  ministered  to  his  wants,  returned  to  the 
house  to  say  farewell. 

'Twas  but  a  step  to  her  door,  and  but  a  moment 
since  he  had  left  it,  but  he  found  her  crying ;  cry- 
ing with  joy,  in  the  very  chair  where  he  had 
found  her  at  prayers  in  the  morning. 

"  I  would  like  to  say  good-by,"  he  said  ;  "  you've 
been  very  kind  to  me  to-day." 

With  a  quick  dash  or  two  of  the  dotted  white 
apron  (spotless  no  longer)  to  her  eye,  she  arose. 
Major  Pitcairn  extended  his  hand,  but  she  folded 
her  own  closely  together,  and  said : 

"  I  wish  you  a  pleasant  journey  back  to  Boston, 
sir." 

"  Will  you  not  shake  hands  with  me  before  I 
go?" 

"  I  can  feed  the  enemy  of  my  country,  but 
shake  hands  with  him,  never  !  " 

For  the  first  time  that  day  the  little  woman's 
love  of  country  seemed  to  rise  triumphant  within 
her,  and  drown  every  impulse  to  selfishness;  or, 
was  it  the  nearness  to  safety  that  she  felt  ? 
Human  conduct  is  the  result  of  so  many  motives 


The  Only  Woman  in  the  Town.  35 

that  it  is  sometimes  impossible  to  name  the  com- 
pound,  although  on  that  occasion  Martha  Moul- 
ton  labelled  it  "  Patriotism." 

"And  yet  I  put  out  the  fire  for  you,"  he  said. 

"  For  your  mother's  sake,  in  old  England,  it 
was,  you  remember,  sir." 

"  I  remember,"  said  Major  Pitcairn,  with  a  sigh, 
as  he  turned  away. 

"  And  for  her  sake  I  will  shake  hands  with 
you,"  said  Martha  Moulton. 

So  he  turned  back,  and,  across  the  threshold,  in 
presence  of  the  waiting  troops,  the  commander  of 
the  expedition  to  Concord  and  the  only  woman 
in  the  town  shook  hands  at  parting. 

Martha  Moulton  saw  Major  Pitcairn  mount  his 
horse  ;  heard  the  order  given  for  the  march  to 
begin — the  march  of  which  you  all  have  heard. 
You  know  what  a  sorry  time  the  Red  Coats  had  of 
it  in  getting  back  to  Boston ;  how  they  were 
fought  at  every  inch  of  the  way,  and  waylaid 
from  behind  every  convenient  tree-trunk,  and  shot 
at  from  tree-tops,  and  aimed  at  from  upper  win- 
dows, and  besieged  from  behind  stone  walls,  and, 
in  short,  made  so  miserable  and  harassed  and 
overworn,  that  at  last  their  depleted  ranks,  with 
the  tongues  of  the  men  parched  and  hanging, 
were  fain  to  lie  down  by  the  road-side  and  take 
what  came  next,  even  though  it  might  be  death. 
And  then  the  dead\hzy  left  behind  them  ! 

Ah !  there's  nothing  wholesome  to  mind  or 
body  about  war,  until  long,  long  after  it  is  over 


36  The  Only  Woman  in  the  Town. 

and  the  earth  has  had  time  to  hide  the  blood,  and 
send  forth  its  sweet  blooms  of  Liberty. 

The  men  of  that  day  are  long  dead.  The  same 
soil  holds  regulars  and  minute-men.  England, 
which  over-ruled,  and  the  provinces,  that  put  out 
brave  hands  to  seize  their  rights,  are  good  friends 
to-day,  and  have  shaken  hands  over  many  a 
threshold  of  hearty  thought  and  kind  deed  since 
that  time. 

The  tree  of  Liberty  grows  yet,  stately  and  fair, 
for  the  men  of  the  Revolution  planted  it  well,  and 
surely,  God  himself  hath  given  it  increase.  So  we 
gather  to-day,  in  this  our  story,  a  forget-me-not 
more,  from  the  old  town  of  Concord. 

When  the  troops  had  marched  away,  the  weary 
little  woman  laid  aside  her  silken  gown,  resumed 
her  homespun  dress,  and  immediately  began  to 
think  of  getting  Uncle  John  down-stairs  again 
into  his  easy  chair ;  but  it  required  more  aid  than 
she  could  give,  to  lift  the  fallen  man.  At  last,  Joe 
Devins  summoned  returning  neighbors,  who  came 
to  the  rescue,  and  the  poor  nubbins  were  left  to 
the  rats  once  more. 

Joe  climbed  down  the  well  and  rescued  the 
blue  stocking,  with  its  treasures  unharmed,  even 
to  the  precious  watch,  which  watch  was  Martha 
Moulton's  chief  treasure,  and  one  of  the  very  few 
in  the  town. 

Martha  Moulton  was  the  heroine  of  the  day. 
The  house  was  besieged  by  admiring  men  and 
women  that  night  and  lor  two  or  three  days  there- 


The  Only  Woman  in  the  Town.  37 

after ;  but  when,  years  later,  she  being  older,  and 
poorer,  even  to  want,  petitioned  the  General 
Court  for  a  reward  for  the  service  she  rendered 
in  persuading  Major  Pitcairn  to  save  the  court- 
house from  burning,  there  was  granted  to  her 
only  fifteen  dollars,  a  poor  little  grant,  it  is  true, 
but  just  enough  to  carry  her  story  down  the  years, 
whereas,  but  for  that,  it  might  never  have  been 
wafted  up  and  down  the  land,  on  the  wings  of  this 
story. 


A  WINDHAM  LAMB  IN  BOSTON 
TOWN. 


T  was  one  hundred  and  one  years  ago 
in  this  very  month  of  June,  that  nine 
men  of  the  old  town  of  Windham — 
which  lies  near  the  northeast  corner 
of  Connecticut — met  at  the  meeting-house  door. 
There  was  no  service  that  day ;  the  doors  were 
shut,  and  the  bell  in  the  steeple  gave  no  sound. 

The  town  of  Windham  had  appointed  the  nine 
men  a  committee  to  ask  the  inhabitants  to  give 
from  their  flocks  of  sheep  as  many  as  they  could 
for  the  hungry  men  and  women  of  Boston.  Each 
man  of  the  committee  was  told  at  the  meeting- 
house door  the  district  in  which  he  was  to  gather 
sheep. 

On  his  stout  grey  pony  sat  Ebenezer  Devotion. 
As  soon  as  he  heard  the  eastern  portion  of  the 
town  assigned  to  him,  he  gave  the  signal  to  his 
horse,  and  in  five  minutes  was  out  of  sight  over 
the  high  hill.  In  ten  minutes  he  was  near  the 
famous  Frog  pond.  As  he  was  passing  it  by,  a 
voice  from  the  marsh  along  its  bank  cried  out : 

"  Where  now,  so  fast,  this  fine  morning,  Mr. 
Devotion  ?  " 

"  The  same  to  you,  Goodwife  Elderkin.  I  know 
your  voice,  though  I  can't  see  your  face." 


A  Windham  Lamb  in  Boston  Town.  39 

Presently  a  hand  parted  the  thicket  and  a 
woman's  face  appeared. 

"  I'm  getting  flag-root.  It  gives  a  twang  to 
root  beer  that  nothing  else  will,  and  the  flag  here- 
about is  the  twangiest  I  know  of.  Stop  at  the 
house  as  you  go  along  and  get  some  beer,  won't 
you?  Mary  Ann's  to  home." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Mr.  Devotion,  with  a  stiff 
bow.  "  It's  a  little  early  for  beer  this  morning. 
I'll  stop  as  I  come  this  way  again.  How  are  your 
sheep  and  lambs  this  year?" 

"  First  rate.     Never  better." 

"  Have  you  any  to  part  with  ?" 

"  Who  wants  to  buy  ?"  and  Goodwife  Elderkin 
came  out  from  the  thicket  to  the  road-side,  eager 
for  gain. 

"  We  don't  sell  sheep  in  Windham  this  year," 
said  Mr.  Devotion. 

"Why,  what's  the  matter  with  the  man?" 
thought  Mrs.  Elderkin,  for  Ebenezer  Devotion 
liked  to  drive  a  good  bargain  as  well  as  any  one 
of  his  neighbors.  Before  she  had  time  to  give 
expression  to  her  surprise,  he  said  with  a  sharp 
inclination  of  his  head  toward  the  sun,  "  We've 
neighbors  over  yonder,  good  and  true,  who 
wouldn't  sell  sheep  if  we  were  shut  in  by  ships  of 
war,  and  hungry,  too." 

"  What !  any  news  from  Boston  town  ?  " 

"  It's  twenty-four  days,  to-day,  since  the  port 
was  shut  up.' 

Goodwife  Elderkin  laughed.     Ebenezer  Devo- 


40  A  Windham  Lamb  in  Boston  Town. 

tion  looked  grim  enough  to  smother  every  bit  of 
laughter  in  New  England. 

"  'Pears  as  if  king  and  Parliament  really  believed 
that  tea  was  cast  away  by  the  men  of  Boston,  now 
don't  it  ?  'stead  of  ever}-  man,  woman  and  child 
in  the  country  havin*  a  hand  in  it,"  said  Mrs.  Elder- 
kin. 

"  About  the  sheep  ! "  replied  Mr.  Devotion,  jerk- 
ing up  his  horse's  head  from  the  sweet,  pure  grass, 
greening  all  the  road-side. 

"  Let  your  pony  feed  while  he  can,"  she  replied. 
"  What  about  the  sheep  ?  " 

"  How  many  will  you  give?" 

"  How  many  are  you  going  to  give  yourself?  " 

"  Twice  as  many  as  you  will." 

"  Do  you  mean  it  ?  " 

"  I  do." 

"  Then  I'll  give  every  sheep  I  own." 

"  And  how  many  is  that  ?  " 

"  A  couple  of  dozen  or  so." 

"  Better  keep  some  of  them  for  another  time." 

Mrs.  Elderkin  laughed  again.  "  I'll  say  half  a 
dozen  then,  if  a  dozen  is  all  you  want  to  give 
yourself." 

Ebenezer  Devotion  drew  from  his  wallet  a  slip 
of  paper  and  headed  his  list  of  names  with  "  Six 
sheep,  from  Goodwife  Elderkin." 

"  Thank  you  in  the  name  of  God  Almighty  and 
the  country,"  he  said,  solemnly,  as  he  jerked  his 
pony's  head  from  the  grass  and  rode  on. 

Mrs.  Elderkin  watched  him  as  he  wound  along 


A  Windham  Lamb  in  Boston  Town.  41 

the  pond-side  and  was  lost  to  sight ;  then  she, 
chuckling  forth  the  words,  "  I  knew  well  enough 
my  sheep  were  safe,"  went  back  to  the  marsh  after 
flag-root. 

When  every  neighbor  feels  it  a  duty  to  carry 
intelligence  from  the  last  speaker  he  has  met  to 
the  next  hearer  he  may  meet,  news  flies  fast,  so 
Goodwife  Elderkin  was  prepared  for  the  accost 
of  Mr.  Devotion.  She  did  not  linger  long  in  the 
swamp,  but,  washing  her  hands  free  from  mud  in 
the  water  of  the  pond,  walked  swiftly  home.  By 
the  time  she  reached  her  house,  the  gray  pony 
and  his  rider  were  two  miles  away  on  the  road 
to  Canterbury.  The  cry  of  hunger  and  possible 
starvation  in  the  town  of  Boston  was  spread- 
ing from  village  to  village  and  from  house  to 
house. 

Do  you  know  how  Boston  is  situated?  It 
would  be  an  island  but  for  the  narrow  neck  of 
land  on  the  south  side.  On  the  east,  west  and 
north  are  the  waters  of  Massachusetts  Bay  and 
Charles  River.  Just  north  from  it,  and  divided 
only  by  the  same  river,  is  another  almost  island, 
with  its  neck  stretched  toward  the  north ;  and 
this  latter  place  is  Charlestown  and  contains 
Bunker's  Hill.  Not  far  from  the  two  towns,  in  the 
bay,  are  many  islands.  Noddle's  Island,  Hog, 
Snake,  Deer,  Apple,  Bird  and  Spectacle  Islands 
are  of  the  number.  On  these  islands  were  many 
sheep  and  cattle,  likewise  hay  and  wood,  all  of 
which  the  inhabitants  of  Boston  needed  for  daily 

4 


42  A  Windham  Lamb  in  Boston  Town. 

use,  but  by  the  Boston  port  bill,  which  went  into 
operation  on  the  first  day  of  June,  no  person  was 
permitted  to  land  anything  at  either  Boston  or 
Charlestown ;  and  so  the  neck  of  Charlestown 
reached  out  to  the  north  for  food  and  help,  and 
the  neck  of  Boston  pleaded  with  the  south  for 
sustenance,  and  it  was  in  answer  to  this  cry  that 
our  nine  men  of  Windham  went  sheep-gathering. 

The  work  went  on  for  four  days,  and  at  the  end 
of  that  time  257  sheep  had  been  freely  given.  The 
owners  drove  them,  on  the  evening  of  the  2/th 
day  of  the  month,  to  the  appointed  place,  and, 
very  early  in  the  morning  of  the  28th,  many  of 
the  inhabitants  were  come  together  to  see  the 
flock  start  on  its  long  march.  Two  men  and  two 
boys  went  with  the  gift.  Good  wife  Elderkin  was 
early  on  the  highway.  She  wanted  to  make  cer- 
tain just  how  many  sheep  bore  the  mark  of  Eben- 
ezer  Devotion's  ownership;  but  the  driven  sheep 
went  past  too  quickly  for  her,  and  she  never  had 
the  satisfaction  of  finding  out  how  many  he  gave. 
Following  the  flock  up  the  hill,  she  saw  in  the 
distance  a  sight  that  made  her  heart  beat  fast. 
On  the  stone  wall,  under  a  great  tree,  sat  Mary 
Robbins,  a  little  girl.  She  was  dressed  in  a  pink 
calico  frock,  and  she  was  holding  in  her  arms  a 
snow-white  lamb,  around  whose  neck  she  had  tied 
a  strip  of  the  calico  of  which  her  own  gown  was 
fashioned. 

"  Now  if  I  ever  saw  the  beat  of  that !  "  cried 
Goodwife  Elderkin,  walking  almost  at  a  run  up 


A  Windham  Lamb  in  Boston  Town.  43 

the  hill,  and  so  coming  to  the  place  where  the 
child  sat,  before  the  sheep  got  there. 

"  Mary  Robbins  !  "  she  cried,  breathless  from  her 
haste.  "  What  have  you  got  that  lamb  for  ?  " 

Mary  blushed  under  her  little  sun-bonnet, 
hugged  the  lamb,  and  said  not  a  word.  At  the 
moment  up  came  the  flock,  panting  and  warm. 
Down  sprang  Mary  Robbins  from  the  wall,  the 
lamb  in  her  arms.  Johnny  Manning,  aged  fifteen 
years,  was  one  of  the  two  lads  in  care  of  the  sheep. 
To  him  Mary  ran,  saying : 

"  Johnny  Johnny,  won't  you  take  my  lamb,  too  ?" 

"  What  for?" 

"  Why,  for  some  poor  little  girl  in  the  town 
where  there  isn't  anything  to  eat,"  urged  Mary, 
her  sun-bonnet  falling  unheeded  into  the  dust,  as 
she  held  up  her  offering  to  the  cause  of  liberty. 

"Why,  it  can't  walk  to  Boston,"  said  the  boy, 
running  back  to  recover  a  stray  sheep. 

"  You  can  carry  it  in  your  arms,"  she  urged. 

"Give  it  to  me,  then." 

She  gave  it,  saying  : 

"  Be  good  to  it,  Johnny,  and  give  him  some  milk 
to  drink  to-night.  It  don't  eat  much  grass,  yet." 

And  so  Johnny  Manning  marched  away,  over 
and  down  and  out  of  sight,  with  Mary's  lamb 
in  his  arms.  As  for  Mary  herself,  little  woman 
that  she  was,  having  made  her  sacrifice,  she  would 
have  dropped  on  the  grass,  after  picking  up  her 
sun-bonnet,  and  had  a  good  cry  over  her  loss,  had 
it  not  been  for  Goodwife  Elderkin  standing  there 
in  the  road,  waiting  for  her. 


44  A  Windham  Lamb  in  Boston  Town. 

With  a  sharp  look  at  the  child,  the  woman  left 
the  highway  to  go  to  her  own  house,  and  Mary 
went  home,  hoping  that  no  one  would  ask  her 
about  the  lamb. 

The  flock  of  sheep  marched  until  the  noontide, 
when  a  halt  was  ordered.  After  that  they  went 
onward  over  hill  and  river,  with  rest  at  night  and 
at  noon,  until  the  town  of  Roxbury  was  reached. 
At  this  place  the  sheep  were  left  to  be  taken  to 
Boston,  when  opportunity  could  be  had. 

With  Mary's  lamb  in  his  arms,  Johnny  Manning 
accompanied  the  messenger  who  went  up  Boston 
Neck  to  carry  a  letter  to  the  "  Selectmen  of  the 
Town."  That  letter  has  been  preserved  and  is 
carefully  kept  among  the  treasured  documents  of 
the  Massachusetts  Historical  Society.  It  is  too 
long  to  be  given  here,  but,  after  begging  Boston 
to  suffer  and  be  strong,  remembering  what  had 
been  done  for  the  country  by  its  founders,  it 
closes  in  these  words  :  "  We  know  you  suffer,  and 
feel  for  you.  As  a  testimony  of  our  commisera- 
tion of  your  misfortunes,  we  have  procured  a 
small  flock  of  sheep,  which  at  this  season  are  not 
so  good  as  we  could  wish,  but  are  the  best  we 
had.  This  small  present,  gentlemen,  we  beg  you 
would  accept  and  apply  to  the  relief  of  those  honest, 
industrious  poor,  who  are  most  oppressed  by  the 
late  oppressive  acts." 

Then,  after  a  promise  of  future  help  in  case  of 
need,  the  letter  is  signed  by  Samuel  Grey, 
Ebenezer  Devotion,  and  seven  other  names,  end- 
ing with  that  of  Hezekiah  Manning. 


1  Give  me  the  lamb,  and  I'll  feed  three  hungry  little  girls  every  day  as  long 
as  Boston  is  shut  up." 


A  Windham  Lamb  in  Boston  Town.  45 

A  British  officer,  seeing  the  lamb  in  Johnny's 
arms,  offered  to  buy  it,  bribing  him  with  a  bit  of 
gold  ;  but  Johnny  said  "  there  wasn't  any  gold  in 
the  land  that  he  would  exchange  it  for,"  and  so  the 
lamb  reached  Boston  in  safety  before  the  sheep 
got  there.  As  Johnny  walked  along  the  streets 
he  was  busy  looking  out  for  some  poor  little  girl 
to  give  it  to,  according  to  Mary's  request. 

"  I  must  wait,"  he  thought,  "  until  I  find  some 
one  who  is  almost  starved." 

On  the  Common  side  he  met  a  little  girl  who 
cried  "  Oh  !  see  !  see  !  A  lamb  !  A  live  lamb  in 
Boston  Town !  " 

The  child's  eyes  rested  on  the  little  white 
creature,  which  accosted  her  with  a  plaintive  bleat. 
Johnny  Manning's  eyes  were  riveted  on  the  little 
girl.  What  he  thought,  he  never  said.  "  Do  you 
want  it  ? "  he  asked. 

"  O  yes !  yes  !     Where  did  you  get  it  ?  " 

"  I've  brought  it  from  Roxbury  in  my  arms. 
Mary  Robbins  gave  it,  in  Windham,  for  some 
poor  little  girl  who  was  hungry  in  Boston. 
Are  you  hungry  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  child,  hesitatingly. 

"  Are  you  poor?" 

"  My  father  is  " — a  sudden  thought  stopped  the 
words  she  was  about  to  speak.  "  Give  me  the 
lamb,"  she  said,  "and  I'll  feed  three  hungry  little 
girls  every  day  as  long  as  Boston  is  shut  up.  I 
will  !  I  will !  and  Mary's  lamb  shall  live  until  I'm 
a  hungry  little  girl  myself,  and  I  will  keep  it 
until  I  am  starved  clear  almost  to  death." 


46  A  Windham  Lamb  in  Boston  Town. 

Johnny  put  Mary's  little  lamb  on  the  walk. 
"  See  if  it  will  follow  you,"  he  said. 

"Come  lamb!  lamb!  come  with  Catharine," 
and  it  went  bleating  after  her  along  the  Common 
side. 

"  It's  used  to  a  girl,"  ejaculated  the  boy,  "  and 
it  hasn't  been  a  bit  happy  with  me.  Give  it  grass 
and  milk,"  he  called  after  Catharine,  who  turned 
and  bowed  her  head. 

"A  pretty  story  I  shall  have  to  tell  Mary 
Robbins,"  thought  Johnny.  "  Here  I  have  given 
her  lamb  to  be  kept  and  coddled,  and  it's  likely 
never  eaten  at  all — but  I  know  that  little  girl  will 
keep  her  word.  She  looks  it — and  she  said  she 
would  feed  three  little  girls  as  long  as  Boston  is 
shut  up,  and  that  is  more  than  the  lamb  could  do. 
I  must  recollect  the  very  words,  to  tell  Mary." 

When  the  Boston  Gazette  of  July  4th,  1774, 
reached  the  village  of  Windham,  its  inhabitants 
were  surprised  at  the  following  announcement, 
more  particularly  as  not  one  of  them  knew 
where  the  last  sheep  came  from: 

"  Last  week,  were  driven  to  the  neighboring  town  of  Roxbury 
two  hundred  and  fifty-eight  sheep,  a  generous  contribution  of  our 
sympathizing  brethren  of  the  town  of  Windham,  in  the  colony  of 
Connecticut ;  to  be  distributed  for  the  employment  or  relief  of 
those  who  may  be  sufferers  by  means  of  the  act  of  Parliament, 
called  the  Boston  Port  Bill." 

Johnny  Manning,  when  he  returned  to  Wind- 
ham,  privately  explained  the  matter  to  Mary 
Robbins,  by  telling  her  that  when  the  sheep  were 
numbered  at  Roxbury  he  counted  in  her  lamb. 


How   One  Boy   Helped  the  British 
Troops  out  of  Boston  in  1776. 


T  was  Commander-in-chief  Washington's 
birthday,  and  it  was  Jeremy  Jagger's 
birthday. 

General  Washington  was  forty-four 
years  old  that  birthday,  a  hundred  years  ago. 
Jeremy  Jagger  was  fourteen,  and  early  in  the 
morning  of  the  22d  of  February,  1776,  the  Gen- 
eral and  the  lad  were  looking  upon  the  same  bit 
of  country,  but  from  different  positions.  General 
George  Washington  was  reviewing  his  precious 
little  army  for  the  thousandth  time  ;  the  lad 
Jeremy  was  looking  from  a  hill  upon  the  camp  at 
Cambridge,  and  from  thence  across  the  River 
Charles  over  into  Boston,  which  city  had,  for 
many  months,  been  held  by  the  British  soldiers. 

At  last  Jeremy  exclaimed :  "  I  say,  it's  too 
chestnut-bur  bad  ;  it  is." 

"  Did  you  step  on  one  ?  "  questioned  a  tall,  hard- 
handed,  earnest-faced  man,  who  at  the  instant  had 
come  up  to  the  stone-wall  on  which  Jeremy  stood, 
surveying  the  camp  and  its  surroundings. 

"  No,  I  didn't,"  retorted  the  lad  ;  "  but  I  wish 
Boston  \v&s  paved  all  over  with  chestnut-burs,  and 


48  How  One  Boy  Helped  the  British 

that  every  pesky  British  officer  in  it  had  to  walk 
barefoot  from  end  to  end  fourteen  times  a  day,  I 
do;  and  the  fourteenth  time  I'd  order  two  or 
three  Colony  generals  to  take  a  turn  with  'em. 
General  Gates  for  one." 

"  Come  along,  Jeremy,"  called  his  companion, 
who  had  strode  across  the  wall  and  gone  on, 
regardless  of  the  boy's  words. 

When  Jeremy  had  ended  his  expressed  wishes, 
he  gathered  up  his  hatchet,  dinner-basket,  and 
coil  of  stout  cord,  and  plunged  through  the  snow 
after  his  leader. 

When  he  had  overtaken  him,  the  impulsive  lad's 
heart  burst  out  at  the  lips  with  the  words : 
"  We  could  take  Boston  now,  just  as  easy  as  any- 
thing— without  wasting  a  jot  of  powder  either. 
Skip  across  the  ice,  don't  you  see,  and  be  right  in 
there  before  daylight.  A  big  army  lying  still  for 
months  and  months,  and  just  doing  nothing  but 
wait  for  folks  in  Boston  to  starve  out !  I  say  it's 
shameful ;  now,  too,  when  the  ice  has  come  that 
General  Washington  has  been  waiting  all  winter 
for." 

"You  won't  help  your  country  one  bit  by 
scolding  about  it,  Jeremy.  You'd  better  save 
your  strength  for  cutting  willow-rods  to-day. 

"  I'd  cut  like  a  hurricane  if  the  rods  were  only 
going  to  whip  the  enemy  with.  But  just  for  six- 
pence a  day — pshaw  !  I  say,  it  don't  pay." 

"  Look  here,  lad,  can  you  keep  a  secret?  " 

"  Trust  me  for  that,"  returned  Jeremy.     Turn- 


Troops  out  of  Boston  in  1776.  49 

ing  suddenly  upon  his  questioner,  he  faced  him 
to  listen  to  a  supposed  bit  of  information. 

"  Then  why  on  earth  are  you  talking  to  me  in 
that  manner,  boy  ?"  questioned  the  man. 

"  Why  you  know  all  about  it,  just  as  well  as  I 
do ;  and  a  fellow  must  speak  out  in  the  woods  or 
somewhere.  Why,  I  get  so  mad  and  hot  sometimes 
that  it  seems  as  if  every  thought  in  me  would 
burn  right  out  on  my  face,  when  I  think  about 
my  poor  mother  over  there,"  pointing  backward 
to  the  three-hilled  city. 

The  two  were  standing  at  the  moment  midway 
of  a  corn-field.  The  February  wind  was  lifting 
and  rustling  and  shaking  rudely  the  withered 
corn-stalks,  with  their  dried  leaves.  To  the 
northward  lay  the  Cambridge  camp,  across  the 
Charles  River.  To  the  south  and  east,  just  over 
Muddy  River  and  Stony  Brook,  lay  the  right 
wing  of  the  American  Army,  with  here  a  fort  and 
there  a  redoubt  stretching  at  intervals  all  the 
distance  between  the  camp  at  Cambridge  and 
Dorchester  Neck,  on  the  southeast  side  of  Boston. 
Behind  them,  to  the  westward,  lay  Cedar  Swamp, 
while  not  more  than  half  a  mile  to  the  front  there 
was  a  four-gun  battery  and  Brookline  Fort,  on 
the  Charles,  near  by. 

While  Jeremy  Jagger  was  pouring  forth  his 
words  with  vociferous  violence,  the  man  by  his 
side  glanced  eagerly  about  the  wide  field  ;  but, 
satisfying  himself  that  no  one  was  within  hearing, 
he  said,  resting  his  hatchet  on  the  lad's  shoulder 


50  How  One  Boy  Helped  the  British 

while  speaking:  "See  here,  my  boy.  The  brave 
man  never  boasts  of  his  bravery  nor  the  trust- 
worthy man  of  his  trustworthiness.  How  you 
learned  what  you  know  of  the  plans  of  General 
Washington  I  do  not  care  to  ask ;  but  to-day  and 
all  days  keep  quiet  and  show  yourself  worthy  of 
being  trusted." 

"  I'll  try  as  hard  as  I  can,"  promised  Jeremy. 

"  No  one  can  have  tried  his  best  without 
accomplishing  something  that  it  was  grand  to  do, 
though  not  always//^/  what  he  was  trying  to  do," 
responded  the  man,  glancing  kindly  down  upon 
the  fresh,  eager  lad,  tramping  through  the  snow, 
at  his  side.  "  Don't  forget.  '  Silence  is  golden,' 
in  war  always.  Not  a  word,  mind,  when  you  get 
home,  about  the  work  of  to-day." 

They  were  come  now  to  a  spot  where  the 
marsh  seemed  to  be  filled  with  sounds  of  wood- 
cutting. As  they  plunged  into  Cedar  Swamp, 
the  sounds  grew  nearer  and  multiplied.  It  was 
like  the  rapid  firing  of  muskets. 

Running  through  the  swamp  there  was  a  trout- 
brook,  that  bore  along  its  borders  a  dense  growth 
of  water-willows. 

And  now  they  advanced  within  sight  of  at  least 
two  hundred  men  and  boys,  every  one  of  whom 
worked  away  as  though  his  life  depended  on 
cutting  a  certain  amount  of  willow-boughs  in  a 
given  time. 

"  What  does  it  all  mean?  "  questioned  Jeremy. 

"  It  means,"  replied  his  companion,  "  work  for 


Troops  out  of  Boston  in  2776.  5 1 

your  country  to-day  with  all  your  might  and 
main." 

"  But,  pray  tell  me,"  persisted  Jeremy,  "  what 
under  the  sun  the  things  are  for,  anyway. 
They're  good  for  nothing  for  fire-wood,  green." 

Mr.  Wooster  turned  and  looked  at  the  lad  and 
said  :  "A  good  soldier  asks  no  questions  and 
marches,  without  knowing  whither.  He  also  cuts, 
without  knowing  for  what.  Now,  to  work !  "  and, 
at  the  instant  they  mingled  with  the  workmen. 

In  less  than  a  minute  Jeremy's  dinner-basket 
was  swinging  on  a  willow-bough,  his  coat  was 
hanging  protectingly  over  it  (you  must  remember 
that  it  contained  Jeremy  Jagger's  birthday  cake), 
and  the  lad's  own  arms  were  working  away  to 
the  musical  sounds  of  a  hatchet  beating  on  a  vast 
amount  of  "  whistle-stuff,"  until  mid-day  and 
hunger  arrived  in  company. 

At  the  signal  for  noon  Jeremy  Jagger  began 
his  birthday  feast.  He  perched  himself  on  a 
stout  willow-branch,  hanging  the  basket  on  a 
conveniently  growing  peg  at  his  right  hand,  and, 
by  frequent  examination  of  the  store  within,  was 
able  to  solace  two  or  three  lads,  less  fortunate 
than  himself,  who  were  taking  the  mid-day  rest, 
refreshed  by  plain  bread  and  cheese,  seated  on  a 
branch,  lower  down  on  the  same  tree. 

"  It  isn't  every  day  that  a  fellow  eats  his  birth- 
day dinner  in  the  woods,"  he  exclaimed,  by  way 
of  apology  for  the  dainties  he  tossed  down  to 
them  in  the  shape  of  sugar-cake  and  "  spice  pie." 


5  2  How  One  Boy  Helped  the  British 

* 

"Aunt  Hannah  was  pretty  liberal  with  me  this 
morning.  I  wonder  if  she  knew  anything,  for  she 
said :  '  I'd  find  plenty  of  squirrels  to  help  eat  it.' 
Where  do  you  live,  anyway  ? "  he  questioned, 
after  he  had  fed  them. 

"  We  live  in  Brookline,"  answered  the  elder. 

"  Well,  do  you  know  what  under  the  sun  we 
are  cutting-  such  bundles  of  fagots  for  to-day?" 
he  slyly  questioned,  being  beyond  the  hearing  of 
the  ears  of  his  friend,  and  so  safe  from  censure. 

"  1  asked  father  this  morning,"  spoke  up  the 
younger  lad  (of  not  more  than  nine  years),  "  and 
he  told  me  he  guessed  General  Washington  was 
going  to  take  Boston  on  the  ice,  and  every  soldier 
was  going  to  take  a  bundle  of  fagots  along,  so  as 
to  keep  from  sinking  if  the  ice  broke  through." 

This  bit  of  military  news  was  received  with 
shouts  of  laughter,  that  echoed  from  tree  to  tree 
along  the  brook,  and  then  the  noon-day  rest  was 
over.  The  wind  began  to  blow  in  cooler  and 
faster  from  the  sea,  and  busy  hands  were  obliged 
to  work  fast  to  keep  from  stiffening  under  the 
power  of  the  growing  frost. 

When  the  new  moon  hung  low  in  the  west  and 
the  sun  was  gone,  the  brookside,  the  cart-path, 
even  the  swamp  fell  back  into  its  accustomed 
silence,  for  the  workers,  in  groups  of  eight  or  ten, 
had  from  minute  to  minute  gone  homeward,  leav- 
ing hugh  piles  of  fagots  near  the  log  bridge. 

Jeremy  went  early  to  bed  that  night.  His 
right  arm  was  weary  and  his  left  arm  ached  ; 


Troops  out  of  Boston  in  1776.  53 

nevertheless,  he  went  straightway  to  dreaming 
that  both  arms  were  dragging  his  beloved  mother 
forth  from  Boston. 

At*  midnight  his  companion  of  the  morning 
came  and  stood  under  his  chamber  window,  and 
tapped  lightly  with  a  bean-pole  against  the  glass 
to  awaken  him. 

Jeremy  heard  the  sound,  but  in  his  dream 
thought  it  was  a  gun  fired  from  one  of  the  ships 
in  the  harbor  at  his  mother,  and  himself,  and 
Boston. 

"  Jeremy,  get  up  !  "  said  somebody,  touching 
his  shoulder. 

"Come,  mother!"  ejaculated  Jeremy,  clutch- 
ing at  the  air  and  uttering  the  words  under  tre- 
mendous pressure. 

"  Come  yourself,  lad,"  said  somebody,  shaking 
him  a  little  roughly  ;  whereupon  Jeremy  awoke. 
"  Get  up,  Jeremy  Jagger.  Hitch  the  oxen  to  the 
cart.  Put  on  the  hay-rigging.  Stay,  I  must  help 
you  to  do  that ;  but  hurry." 

Jeremy  rubbed  his  eyes,  wondered  what  had 
become  of  his  mother,  and  how  Mr.  Wooster 
found  his  way  into  the  house  in  the  night,  and 
lastly,  what  was  to  be  done.  Furthermore,  he 
dressed  with  speed,  and  awakened  the  oxen  by 
vigorous  touches  and  moving  words. 

"  Get  up !  get  up  !  "  he  importuned,  "  and  work 
for  your  country,  and  may  be  you  won't  be 
killed  and  eaten  for  your  country  when  you  are 
old."  The  large,  patient  eyes  of  the  oxen  slowly 


54  How  One  Boy  Helped  the  British 

opened  into  the  night,  and  after  awhile  the  vig- 
orous strokes  and  voiceful  "  get  ups  "  of  their 
master  had  due  effect. 

Mr.  Wooster  helped  to  adjust  the  hay-rigging, 
and  then  the  large-wheeled  cart  rolled  grindingly 
over  the  frozen  ground  of  the  highway,  until  it 
turned  into  the  path  leading  into  the  swamp,  over 
which  the  snow  lay  in  unbroken  surface.  Jeremy 
Jagger's  was  but  the  pioneer  cart  that  night.  A 
half-dozen  rolled  and  tumbled  and  reeled  over 
the  uneven  surface  behind  him,  to  the  log  bridge. 
It  was  cold  and  still.  As  the  topmost  fagot  was 
tossed  on  the  pile  in  his  cart  he  drew  off  a  mitten, 
thrust  his  benumbed  fingers  between  his  parted 
lips,  and  when  he  removed  them  said  :  "  I  hope 
General  Washington  has  had  a  better  birthday 
than  mine." 

"  I  know  one  thing,  my  lad." 

Jeremy  turned  quickly,  for  he  did  not  recog- 
nize the  voice.  Even  then  he  could  not  discern 
the  face  ;  but  he  knew  instantly  that  it  was  no 
common  person  who  had  spoken.  Nevertheless, 
with  that  sturdy,  good-as-anybody  air  that  made 
the  men  of  April  iQth  and  June  i/th  fight  so 
gloriously,  he  demanded: 

"What  do  you  know?" 

"  That  General  Washington  would  gladly 
change  places  with  you  to-night,  if  you  are  the 
honest  lad  you  seem  to  be." 

"  Go  and  see  him  in  his  comfortable  bed  over 
there  in  Cambridge,"  was  Jeremy's  response, 


Troops  out  of  Boston  in  1776.  55 

uttered  in  the  same  breath  with  the  word  to  his 
oxen  to  move  on.  They  moved  on.  The  fagots 
reeled  and  swayed,  the  cart  rumbled  over  the 
logs  of  the  bridge,  and  boy,  oxen  and  cart  were 
soon  lost  to  sight  and  hearing  in  the  cedar 
thickets  of  the  swamp. 

Through  the  next  two  hours  they  toiled  on, 
Jeremy  on  foot,  and  often  ready  to  lie  down  with 
the  healthy  sleep  that  would  not  leave  its  hold  on 
his  weary  brain. 

It  was  day-dawn  when  the  fagots  had  been 
duly  delivered  at  the  appointed  place  and  Jeremy 
reached  home. 

He  had  been  cautiously  bidden  to  see  that  the 
cart  was  not  left  outside  with  its  tell-tale  rigging. 
He  obeyed  the  injunction,  shut  the  oxen  in,  gave 
them  double  allowance  of  hay,  and  was  startled 
by  Aunt  Hannah's  cheery  call  of:  "Jerry,  my 
boy,  come  to  breakfast." 

"  Breakfast  ready  ?  "  said  Jeremy. 

"  Why,  yes.  I  was  up  early  this  morning,  and 
thought  of  you."  And  that  was  the  only  allusion 
Aunt  Hannah  made  to  his  night's  work.  He 
longed  to  tell  her  and  chat  about  it  all  at  the 
table ;  but,  remembering  his  promise  in  the 
swamp,  he  said  not  a  word. 

Six  nights  out  of  seven  Jeremy  and  his  oxen 
worked  all  night  and  slept  nearly  all  day. 

The  brook  in  Cedar  Swamp  was  robbed  of  its 
willows,  and  many  another  bit  of  land  and  water- 
course suffered  in  a  like  manner. 


56  How  One  Boy  Helped  the  British 

Then  came  the  order  to  make  the  fagots  into 
fascines.  Two  thousand  soldiers  were  got  to 
work  to  effect  this.  Jeremy  Jagger  began  to 
understand  what  was  going  on  behind  the  lines 
at  Roxbury.  He  was  the  happiest  lad  in  exist- 
ence during  the  ensuing  days.  He  forgot  to  eat, 
even,  when  the  fascines  were  in  making.  Per- 
ceiving the  manner  in  which  they  were  formed 
he  volunteered  to  help,  and  soon  found  he  could 
drive  the  cross  supports  into  the  ground,  lay  the 
saplings  upon  them,  and  even  aid  in  twisting  the 
green  withes  about  them,  as  well  as  any  soldier 
of  them  all. 

Bales  of  "  screwed  "  hay  began  to  appear  in 
great  numbers  within  the  lines,  and  empty  barrels 
by  the  hundreds  sprang  up  from  somewhere. 

And  all  this  time,  guess  as  every  man  might 
and  did — the  coming  event  was  known  only  to 
the  commander-in-chief  and  to  the  six  generals 
forming  the  council  of  war. 

Monday  night,  before  sundown,  Jeremy  Jagger 
received  an  order.  It  was : 

MARCH  411*. 
JEREMY  JAGGER : 

With  oxen  and  cart  (hay-rigging  on),  be  at  the 
Roxbury  lines  by  moon-rise  to-night.  Take  a 
pocketful  of  gingerbread  along. 

VVOOSTER. 

With  manly  pride  the  boy  set  forth.  He 
longed  to  put  the  note  in  his  aunt's  hand  ere  he 


Troops  out  of  Boston  in  1776.  5  7 

went;  but  she  (long  ago  it  seemed,  though  only  a 
few  days  had  passed)  seemed  to  take  no  note  of 
his  frequent  absences.  He  had  scarcely  gone  a 
rod  ere  the  cannon-balls  began  their  march  into 
Boston  from  all  the  fortifications  of  the  Ameri- 
cans; and  in  return  from  Boston,  flying  north 
and  south  and  west,  came  shot  and  shells. 

Undaunted  and  excited  by  the  mere  possibility 
of  being  hit,  Jeremy  went  onward.  When  he 
arrived  in  Roxbury  he  found  everybody  and 
everything  astir.  His  cart  was  seized,  filled  with 
bundles  of  "screwed  "  hay,  and,  ere  he  knew  it, 
he  was  in  line  with  two  hundred  and  ninety-nine 
other  carts,  marching  forward  to  fortify  Dorches- 
ter Heights.  Before  him  went  twelve  hundred 
troops,  under  the  command  of  General  Thomas  ; 
before  the  troops  trundled  an  unknown  number 
of  carts,  filled  with  intrenching  tools ;  before  the 
tools  were  eight  hundred  men.  Not  a  word  was 
spoken.  In  silence  and  with  utmost  care  they 
trod  the  way.  At  eight  of  the  clock  the  covering 
party  of  eight  hundred  reached  the  Height  and 
divided — one-half  going  toward  the  point  nearest 
Boston,  the  other  to  the  point  nearest  Castle  Wil- 
liam, on  Castle  Island,  held  by  the  British. 

Then  the  working  party  began  their  labor  with 
enthusiasm  unbounded,  wondering  what  the  Brit- 
ish general  would  think  when  he  should  behold 
their  work  in  the  morning.  They  toiled  in  silence 
by  the  light  of  the  moon  and  the  home  music  of 
144  shot  and  13  shell  going  into  Boston,  and 

5 


58  How  One  Boy  Helped  the  British 

unnumbered  shot  and  shell  coming  out  of  Boston. 
Gridley,  whose  quick  night  work  at  Breed's  Hill 
on  the  sixteenth  of  June  had  startled  the  world, 
headed  the  intrenching  party  as  engineer. 

Poor  Jeremy  was  not  allowed  to  go  farther 
than  Dorchester  Neck  with  his  first  load.  The 
bundles  of  hay  were  tumbled  out  and  laid  in  line, 
to  protect  the  supplying  party,  in  case  the  work 
going  on  on  the  hill  beyond  should  be  found  out. 

The  next  time,  to  his  extreme  delight,  he  found 
that  fascines  were  to  go  in  his  cart.  When  he 
reached  Dorchester  Height  quick  work  was  made 
of  unloading  his  freight,  and,  without  a  word 
spoken,  he  was  ordered  back  with  a  move  of  the 
hand. 

Four  times  the  lad  and  the  oxen  went  up  Dor- 
chester Hill  that  night.  The  fourth  time,  as  no 
order  was  given  to  return,  Jeremy  thought  he 
might  as  well  stay  and  see  the  battle  that  would 
begin  with  the  dawn. 

He  left  the  oxen  behind  an  embankment  with  a 
big  bundle  of  hay  to  the  front  of  them  ;  and  after 
five  minutes  devoted  to  gingerbread  he  went  to 
work.  Morning  would  come  long  before  they 
were  ready  to  have  it  unveil  the  growing  forts  to 
the  eyes  of  Admiral  Shuldham,  with  his  ships  of 
war  lying  in  the  harbor ;  or  to  the  sentinels  at 
Castle  William,  on  Castle  Island,  to  the  right  of 
them ;  or  to  General  Howe,  with  his  vigilant 
thousands  of  Englishmen  safe  and  snug  in  Boston, 
to  the  north  of  them. 


Troops  out  of  Boston  in  1776.  59 

Jeremy  was  rolling  barrels  to  the  brow  of  the 
hill  they  were  fortifying,  and  tumbling  into  them 
with  haste  shovelful  after  shovelful  of  good  solid 
earth,  that  they  might  hit  hard  when  rolled  down 
on  the  foe  that  should  dare  to  mount  the  height, 
when  a  cautious  voice  at  his  side  uttered  the  one 
word  "  Look ! "  accompanied  with  a  motion  of 
the  hand  toward  Dorchester  Neck. 

In  the  moonlight,  past  the  bales  of  hay,  two 
thousand  Americans  were  filing  in  silent  haste 
to  the  relief  of  the  men  who  had  toiled  all  night 
to  build  forts  they  meant  to  defend  on  the  mor- 
row. 

It  was  four  o'clock  in  the  morning  when  they 
came.  Jeremy  was  tired  and  sleepy  too.  His 
eyelids  would  drop  over  his  eyes,  shutting  out 
everything  he  so  longed  to  keep  in  sight. 

"  You've  worked  like  a  hero,"  said  a  kind  voice 
to  the  lad.  "  It  will  be  hot  work  here  by  sunrise 
—no  place  for  boys,  when  the  battle  begins." 

"  I  can  fight,"  stoutly  persisted  Jeremy,  nod- 
ding as  he  spoke ;  and,  had  anybody  thought  of 
the  lad  at  all  after  that,  he  might  have  been  found 
in  the  ox -cart,  carelessly  strewn  over  with  hay? 
taking  a  nap. 

Meanwhile  on  came  the  morning.  A  friendly 
fog  hung  lovingly  around  the  new  hills  on  the  old 
hills,  that  the  Yankees  had  built  in  a  night. 

Admiral  Shuldham  was  called  in  haste  from  his 
bed  by  frightened  men,  who  wondered  what  had 
happened  on  Dorchester  Height.  Castle  William 


60  How  One  Boy  Helped  the  British 

stood  aghast  with  astonishment.  Messengers 
went  up  the  bay  to  tell  the  army  the  news. 

General  Howe  marched  out  to  take  a  look 
through  the  fog  at  the  old  familiar  hills  he  had 
known  so  long,  and  didn't  like  the  looks  of  the 
new  hats  they  wore.  He  wondered  how  in  the 
world  the  thing  had  been  done  without  discovery; 
but  there  it  was,  larger  a  good  deal  than  life,  seen 
through  the  fog,  and  he  knew  also  why  it  was  that 
the  cannon  had  been  playing  on  Boston  through 
the  hours  of  three  or  four  nights.  He  was  angry, 
astonished,  perplexed.  He  had  a  little  talk  with 
Admiral  Shuldham  ;  and  they  agreed  to  do  some- 
thing. Yes,  they  would  walk  up  and  demand  back 
the  hills  looking  over  into  Boston.  Transports 
came  hurrying  to  pier  and  wharf,  and  soldiers 
went  bravely  down  and  gave  themselves  to  the 
work  of  a  short  sea  voyage. 

Meanwhile  Jeremy  Jagger's  nap  was  broken  by 
a  number  of  trenching  tools  thrown  carelessly 
over  his  back,  as  he  lay  asleep  in  his  cart. 

"  Halloo  there !"  he  shouted,  striving  to  rise 
from  the  not  very  comfortable  blanket  that  drop- 
ped in  twain  to  the  left  and  the  right,  as  he  shook 
off  the  tools  and  returned  from  the  land  of  sleep 
to  Dorchester  Heights  and  the  5th  of  March. 
He  was  just  in  time  to  hear  a  voice  like  a  clarion 
cry  out:  "  Remember  it  is  the  5th  of  March,  and 
avenge  the  death  of  your  brethren." 

It  was  the  very  voice  that  had  said  in  the 
swamp  in  the  night  that  "  General  Washington 


Troops  out  of  Boston  in  1776.  61 

would  gladly  change  places  with  Jeremy  Jagger." 
It  was  the  voice  of  General  Washington  animat- 
ing the  troops  for  the  coming  battle. 

Meanwhile  a  new  and  unexpected  force  arrived 
on  the  field  of  action.  It  came  in  from  sea — a 
great  and  mighty  wind,  that  tossed  and  tumbled 
the  transports  to  and  fro  on  the  waves  and  would 
not  let  them  land  anywhere  save  at  the  place  they 
came  from.  So  they  went  peacefully  back  to 
Boston,  and  the  Liberty  Men  over  on  the  hills 
went  on  all  day  and  all  night,  in  the  rain  and  the 
wind,  building  up,  strengthening,  fortifying,  in 
fact  getting  ready,  as  Jeremy  told  his  aunt,  when 
he  reached  home  on  the  morning  of  the  sixth  of 
March,  "  for  a  visit  from  King  George  and  all 
his  army." 

The  next  day  General  Howe  doubted  and  did 
little.  The  next  and  the  next  went  on  and  then 
on  the  morning  of  the  I7th  of  March  something 
new  had  happened.  There  was  one  little  hill,  so 
near  to  Boston  that  it  was  almost  in  it;  and  lo  ! 
in  the  night  it  had  been  visited  by  the  Americans, 
and  a  Liberty  Cap  perched  above  its  head. 

General  Howe  said  :  "  We  must  get  away  from 
here  in  haste." 

"  Take  us  with  you,"  said  a  thousand  Royalists 
of  the  town  ;  and  he  took  them,  bag  and  baggage, 
to  wander  up  and  down  the  earth. 

Over  on  Bunker  Breed's  Hill  wooden  sentinels 
did  duty  when  the  British  soldiers  left  and  for  full 
two  hours  after;  and  then  two  brave  Yankees 


62  How  One  Boy  Helped  the  British 

guessed  the  men  were  wooden,  and  marched  in 
to  take  possession  just  nine  months  from  the  day 
they  bade  it  good-by,  because  they  had  no  pow- 
der with  which  to  "  tune  "  their  guns. 

Over  on  Cambridge  Common  marched,  im- 
patient as  ever,  General  Putnam,  with  his  four 
thousand  followers,  ready  to  cross  the  River 
Charles  and  walk  once  more  the  city  streets  of 
the  good  old  town.  On  all  the  hills  were 
gathered  men,  women  and  children  to  see  the 
British  troops  depart. 

Jeremy  Jagger  was  up  before  the  dawn  on  that 
sweetest  of  Sunday  mornings  in  March,  and  he 
reached  the  Roxbury  lines  just  as  General  Ward 
was  ready  to  put  his  arms  about  Boston's  Neck. 
The  lad  took  his  place  with  the  five  hundred  men 
and  walked  by  Ensign  Richards'  side,  as  he 
proudly  bore  the  standard  up  to  the  gates,  which 
Ebenezer  Learned  "  unbarred  and  opened."  Once 
within  the  lines,  Jeremy,  unmindful  of  the  crow's 
feet  strewn  over  the  way,  made  haste  through 
lane  and  street  to  his  old  home  on  Beacon  Hill. 
"Could  that  be  his  mother  looking  out  at  him 
through  the  window-pane  ? "  he  thought,  as  he 
drew  near. 

She  saw  him.  She  knew  him.  But  what  could 
it  mean  that  she  did  not  open  the  door  to  let  him 
in ;  that  she  waved  him  away  ?  It  could  not  be 
that  she,  his  own  mother,  had  turned  Tory,  that 
her  face  was  grown  so  red  and  angry  at  the  sight 
of  her  son. 


Troops  out  of  Boston  in  1776.  63 

Jeremy  banged  away  at  the  door.  There  was 
no  answer. 

At  last  he  heard  the  lifting  of  a  sash,  a  head, 
muffled  carefully,  appeared  from  the  highest  win- 
dow in  the  house,  and  a  voice  (the  lad  knew  whose 
it  was)  said  :  "  Go,  Jeremy  !  Go  away  out  of  Bos- 
ton as  fast  as  you  can.  I'll  come  to  you  as  soon 
as  it  is  safe." 

"Why,  mother,  what's  the  matter?"  cried  the 
boy. 

"  Small  pox  !  I've  had  it.  Everybody  has  it. 
Go!" 

"  Good-by,"  cried  Jeremy,  running  out  of  Bos- 
ton as  fast  as  any  British  soldier  of  them  all  and 
a  good  deal  more  frightened.  He  burst  into 
Aunt  Hannah's  house  with  the  news  that  he  had 
been  to  Boston,  that  the  soldiers  were  all  gone, 
that  he  had  seen  his  mother,  that  she  had  the 
small-pox  and  sent  him  off  in  a  hurry. 

"Tut!  tut!"  she  cried.  "It's  wicked  to  tell 
lies,  Jeremy  Jagger." 

"  I'm  not  telling  lies.  Every  word  is  true. 
Please  give  me  something  to  eat." 

But  Aunt  Hannah  did  not  wait  to  give  the  lad 
food,  nor  even  to  speak  the  prayer  of  thanksgiv- 
ing that  went  like  incense  from  her  heart.  She 
went  into  the  barn-yard  and  threw  corn  on  the 
barn-floor,  to  which  the  hens  and  turkeys  made 
haste.  Closing  the  door,  she  summoned  Jeremy 
to  kill  the  largest  and  best  of  them. 

That  Sunday  afternoon  the  brick  oven  glowed 


64  How  One  Boy  Helped  the  British 

with  fervent  heat,  the  white,  fat  offerings  went  in, 
and  the  golden-brown  turkeys  and  chickens  came 
out;  and  as  each,  in  turn,  was  pronounced  "done," 
Aunt  Hannah  repeated  the  words  :  "  Hungry  ! 
hungry  !  hungry  !  Hungry  all  winter  !  " 

The  big  clothes-basket  was  full  of  lint  for 
wounds  that  now  never  should  be  made.  Gladly 
she  tossed  out  the  fluffy  mass,  and  packed  within 
it  every  dainty  the  house  contained. 

It  was  nearly  sunset  when  Aunt  Hannah  and 
Jeremy  started  forth,  with  the  basket  between 
them,  to  Mr.  Wooster's  house,  hoping  that  he 
would  carry  it  in  his  wagon  up  to  Boston.  He 
was  not  at  home. 

"  Get  out  the  cart,"  said  Aunt  Hannah  to 
Jeremy,  when  they  learned  no  help  was  to  be 
obtained.  She  sat  by  the  roadside  watching  the 
basket  until  the  cart  arrived. 

"  I'm  going  with  you,"  she  said,  after  the  basket 
was  in ;  she  climbed  to  the  seat  beside  the  lad, 
and  off  they  started  for  Boston. 

It  was  dark  when  they  reached  the  lines,  and 
no  passes  granted,  the  officers  said,  to  go  in  that 
night. 

"  But  I've  food  for  the  hungry,"  said  Aunt 
Hannah,  in  her  sweetest  voice,  from  the  darkness 
of  the  cart,  "  and  folks  are  hungry  in  the  night  as 
well  as  in  the  day." 

She  deftly  threw  aside  the  cover  from  the 
basket  and  took  out  a  chicken,  which  she  held 
forth  to  the  man,  saying:  "Take  it.  It's  good." 


Troops  out  of  Boston  in  1776.  65 

He  hesitated  a  moment,  then  seized  it  eagerly. 

"  I  know  you,''  spoke  up  Jeremy,  at  this  junc- 
ture. "  You  went  up  the  Neck  with  us  this  morn- 
ing-. I  saw  you." 

"  Then  you  are  the  boy  who  got  first  into 
Boston  this  morning,  are  you,  sir?" 

"  1  believe  I  did,  sir." 

"  Go  on." 

The  oxen  went  on. 

"  Now,  Jeremy,  down  with  you  and  wait  here 
for  me.  You  haven't  had  small-pox,"  said  Aunt 
Hannah. 

"  But  the  oxen  won't  mind  you,"  said  Jeremy. 

Aunt  Hannah  was  troubled.  She  never  had 
driven  oxen. 

At  the  moment  who  should  appear  but  Mr. 
Wooster.  He  gladly  offered  to  take  the  basket 
and  deliver  it  at  Mrs.  Jagger's  door. 

"  Don't  go  in,  mind  !  Mother's  had  small-pox," 
called  Jeremy,  as  he  started. 

"  I'm  tired,"  gasped  Aunt  Hannah,  who  had 
done  baking  enough  for  a  small  army  that  day, 
as  she  sat  down  to  rest  on  the  broad  seat  of  the 
cart,  and  the  two  started  for  home.  The  soldier 
at  the  gate  scarcely  heeded  them  as  they  went 
out,  for  roasted  chicken  "  tasted  so  good." 

"  I'm  so  glad  the  British  are  out  of  Boston," 
said  Aunt  Hannah,  as  she  touched  home  soil 
again  and  went  wearily  up  the  walk  to  the  little 
dark  house. 

"And  so  am  I,"  said  Jeremy  to  the  oxen,  as  he 


66  How  One  Boy  Helped  the  British,  etc. 

turned  them  in  for  the  night ;  "  only  if  I'd  had 
my  way,  they  wouldn't  have  gone  without  one 
good  fair  fight.  You've  done  your  duty,  any- 
how," he  added,  soothingly,  with  a  parting  stroke 
to  the  honest  laborer  who  went  in  last,  "  and  you 
deserve  well  of  your  country,  too,  for  like  Gen. 
Washington,  you  have  served  without  hope  of 
reward.  The  thing  I  like  best  about  the  man  is 
that  he  don't  work  for  money.  I  don't  want  my 
sixpence  a  day  for  cutting  willows ;  and — I  won't 
— take  it."  And  he  didn't  take  it,  consoling 
himself  with  the  reflection  "  that  he  would  be  like 
Gen.  Washington  in  one  thing,  anyhow." 


PUSSY  DEAN'S  BEACON  FIRE. 

MARCH  17,  1776. 


HUNDRED   years  ago  the  winds  of 

March  were  blowing. 
To-day  the  same  winds  rush  by  the 

stone  memorials  and  sweep  across  the 
low  mounds  that  securely  cover  the  men  and  the 
women  that  then  were  alive  to  chill  blast  and 
stirring  event.  Even  the  lads  who  gathered  at 
sound  of  drum  and  fife  on  village  green,  wishing, 
as  they  saw  the  troopers  march,  that  they  were 
men,  and  the  little  girls  who  hung  about  father's 
neck  because  he  was  going  off  to  war,  who 
watched  the  post-riders  on  their  course,  wishing 
that  they  knew  the  news  he  carried,  are  no  longer 
with  us. 

For  nearly  two  years  Boston  had  been  the  lost 
town  of  the  people.  It  had  been  taken  from  the 
children  by  an  unkind  father  and  given  to 
strangers.  You  have  been  told  how  British  ships 
came  and  closed  her  harbor,  so  that  food  and 
raiment  could  not  enter.  You  know  how  grandly 
the  younger  sister  towns  behaved  toward  stately, 
hungry  Boston ;  how  they  marched  up  the  nar- 
row neck  of  land  that  holds  back  the  town  from 


68  Pussy  Dean's  Beacon  Fire. 

the  sea,  each  and  every  one  bearing-  gifts  to  the 
beloved  town,  until  there  came  the  sad  and  fatal 
day  wherein  British  military  lines  turned  back 
the  tide  of  offerings  and  closed  the  gate  of 
entrance. 

Then  it  was  that  friends  began  to  gather  across 
the  rivers  that  wound  their  waters  around  Bos- 
ton. Presently  an  army  grew  up  and  stationed 
itself  with  leaders  and  banners  and  forts. 

Summer  came.  The  army  waited  through  all 
the  long  warm  days.  The  summer  went ;  the 
leaves  fell ;  the  chill  winds  and  the  cold  sea-fogs 
wound  into  and  out  of  the  poor  little  tents  and 
struck  the  brave  men  who,  having  no  tents,  tried 
to  be  strong  and  endure. 

Every  child  knows,  or  ought  to  know,  the  story 
of  that  winter  ;  how  day  by  day,  all  over  New 
England,  men  were  striving  to  gather  fireams  and 
powder  wherewith  to  take  back  from  the  foe  poor 
Boston.  But,  alas,  there  was  not  powder  enough 
in  all  the  land  to  do  it. 

The  long,  wearying  winter  had  done  its  worst 
for  the  prisoned  inhabitants  within  the  town  ;  and, 
truly,  it  had  tried  and  pinched  the  waiting  friends 
who  stood  at  the  gates. 

At  last,  in  March,  in  the  night,  the  brave 
helpers  climbed  the  hills,  built  on  them  smaller 
hills,  and  by  the  light  of  the  morning  were  able 
to  look  over  into  the  town — at  which  the  patriots 
were  glad  and  the  British  commander  frightened. 

A  little  after  nine  of  the  clock  on  Sunday  morn- 


Pussy  Dean's  Beacon  Fire.  69 

ing,  the  i/th  of  March,  1776,  three  Narragansett 
ponies  stood  before  General  Washington's  head- 
quarters at  Cambridge. 

"  Go  with  all  possible  speed  to  Governor 
Trumbull,"  said  Washington,  delivering  de- 
spatches to  a  well-known  and  trusted  messenger, 
who  instantly  mounted  one  of  the  ponies  in  wait- 
ing— Sweeping  Wind  by  name — and  rode  away, 
with  many  a  sharp  and  inquiring  glance  back  at 
city  and  river  and  camp. 

It  was  four  of  the  clock  in  the  afternoon,  and 
the  messenger  had  not  paused  since  he  set  forth, 
longer  than  to  give  Sweeping  Wind  water  to 
drink,  when,  on  the  highway  in  the  distance,  he 
saw  a  red  cloak  fluttering  and  flying  before  him. 

It  was  Pussy  Dean  who  wore  the  cloak.  She 
was  fifteen,  fair  and  lovely,  brave  and  patriotic  as 
any  soldier  in  the  land. 

At  first  she  was  angry  at  the  law  by  which  she 
was  denied  a  new  cloak  that  winter,  made  of 
English  fabric,  but  when  wrapped  in  the  coveted 
broadcloth  of  scarlet  belonging  to  her  mother  she 
was  more  than  reconciled. 

On  this  Sunday  Pussy  had  been  at  the  meeting- 
house on  the  hill,  two  miles  from  home,  at  both 
morning  and  afternoon  service,  and  afterward  had 
lingered  a  little  to  gather  up  bits  of  news  from 
camp  and  town  to  take  home  to  her  mother,  and 
so  it  had  happened  that  she  was  quite  alone  on 
the  highway. 

Pussy  chanced  to  look  back  to  the  summit  of 


70  Pussy  Deans  Beacon  Fire. 

the  hill  down  which  she  had  walked,  and  she  saw 
the  express  coming. 

"  Now,"  she  thought,  "  if  I  could  only  stop 
him !  I  wonder  if  I  can't.  I'll  try,  and  then," 
swinging  her  silken  bag,  "  1  shall  have  news  to 
carry  home,  the  very  latest,  too." 

As  she  swung  the  bag  she  suddenly  remem- 
bered that  she  had  something  within  it  to  offer 
the  rider. 

"  Of  course  I  can,"  she  went  on  saying  to  her- 
self. "  Post-riders  are  always  hungry,  and  it's 
lucky  for  him  that  I  didn't  have  to  eat  my  dinner 
myself,  to-day.  Now,  if  I  only  had  a  basketful  of 
clover  heads  or  roses  for  that  pony,  I'd  find  out 
all  about  Boston  while  it  was  eating." 

The  only  roses  within  sight  were  blooming  on 
Pussy  Dean's  two  cheeks  as  Sweeping  Wind 
came  clattering  his  shoes  against  the  frozen 
ground.  He  would  have  gone  straight  on  had  a 
scarlet  cloak  not  been  planted,  like  a  fluttering 
standard,  full  in  his  pathway. 

The  rider  gave  the  pony  the  slightest  possible 
check,  since  he  felt  sure  that  no  red-coated  soldier 
lurked  behind  the  red  cloak. 

"  Take  something  to  eat,  won't  you?  "  accosted 
Pussy,  rather  glowing  in  feature  and  agitated  in 
voice  by  her  own  daring. 

Meanwhile  the  rider  had  given  Sweeping  Wind 
a  second  intimation  to  stand,  which  he  obeyed, 
and  sniffed  at  Pussy's  cloak  and  cheeks  and  silken 
bag  as  she  held  it  forth  to  the  rider,  saying 


Pussy  Dean's  Beacon  Fire.  7 1 

naively,  "  I  went  to  meeting  and  was  invited  to 
luncheon,  and  so  didn't  eat  mine."  She  spoke 
swiftly,  as  though  she  knew  she  must  not  detain 
him. 

He  answered  with  a  smile  and  a  "Thank  you," 
took  the  bag,  and  rewarded  her  by  saying,  "  The 
British  are  getting  out  of  Boston,  bag  and  bag- 
gage." 

"And  where  are  you  going?"  demanded  Pussy, 
determined  not  to  go  home  with  but  half  the 
story  if  she  could  help  it. 

"  To  Governor  Trumbull  with  the  good  news 
and  a  demand  for  two  thousand  men  to  save  New 
York,"  he  cried  back,  having  gone  on.  His 
words  were  entangled  with  a  mouthful  of  ginger- 
bread or  mince-pie  to  such  an  extent  that  it  was 
a  full  minute  before  Pussy  understood  their  im- 
port, and  then  she  could  only  say  over  and  over 
to  herself,  as  she  hastened  on,  "  Father  will  be 
here,  father  will  come  home,  and  we'll  have  the 
good  old  times  back  again." 

But  notwithstanding  her  hope  and  a  country's 
wish,  the  good  old  times  were  not  at  hand. 

Pussy  reached  home  and  told  the  story.  Baby 
went  down  plump  into  the  wooden  cradle  at  the 
first  note  of  it,  and  set  up  a  tune  of  rejoicing  in 
his  own  fashion  which  no  one  regarded.  Brother 
Benjamin,  aged  thirteen,  whistled  furiously,  re- 
gardless of  the  honors  of  the  day.  Sammy,  who 
was  ten,  clapped  his  hands  and  knocked  his  heels 
together,  first  in  joy,  and  then  began  to  fear  lest 


7  2  Pussy  Dean's  Beacon  Fire. 

the  war  should  be  over  before  he  grew  big1 
enough  to  be  in  it. 

"  Mother,"  said  Pussy,  a  few  minutes  later,  "  let 
Benny  come  with  me  to  tell  Mr.  Gale  about  it; 
may  he?" 

Pussy  laid  aside  her  Sunday  bonnet,  tied  a 
straw  hat  over  her  ears  with  a  silk  kerchief  to 
keep  out  the  wind,-  and  in  three  minutes  got 
Benny  into  the  highway. 

"  See  here,  Ben,  I'm  going  to  light  a  fire  on 
Baldhead  to  tell  all  the  folks  together  about  it, 
and  I  want  you  to  help  me ;  quick,  before  it  gets 
dark." 

"  You  can't  gather  fagots,"  responded  Ben. 

Yes,  she  could,  and  would,  and  did,  while 
Benny  went  to  the  house  nearest  to  Baldhead  to 
ask  for  some  fire  in  a  kettle. 

The  two  worked  with  such  vigor  and  will  that 
the  first  gathering  of  darkness  saw  the  light  of 
the  beacon-flame  burst  forth,  and  the  great  March 
wind  blew  it  into  fiercest  glow.  Every  eye  that 
saw  the  fire  there  knew  that  it  had  been  kindled 
with  a  purpose,  and  many  feet  from  house  and 
hamlet  set  forth  to  learn  the  cause. 

While  Pussy  and  Ben  were  yet  adding  fagots 
to  the  fire,  they  heard  a  voice  crying  out :  "  The 
young  rascals  shall  be  punished  soundly  for  this," 
and  ere  Pussy  had  time  to  explain  or  expostulate, 
a  strong  man  had  Ben  in  his  grasp. 

"Stop  that,  sir!  "  cried  the  girl,  rushing  to  the 
rescue  with  a  burning  fagot  that  she  had  seized 


Pussy  Dean's  Beacon  Fire.  73 

from  the  fire,  and  shaking  it  full  in  the  assailant's 
face. 

By  the  light  of  it,  the  man  saw  Pussy  and  she 
saw  him  ;  and  then  both  began  to  laugh,  while 
Ben  rubbed  his  ears  and  wondered  whether  they 
were  both  on  his  head. 

"  It  means, "  spoke  the  girl,  waving  the  still 
flaming  brand  toward  the  east,  "  that  the  British 
left  Boston  this  morning,  and  that  General " — 
(just  here  a  dozen  men  were  at  the  fire.  Pussy 
raised  her  voice  and  continued) — "  Washington 
wants  you  all,  every  one  of  you,  to  march  straight 
to  Governor  Trumbull,  and  he'll  tell  you  what  to 
do  next." 

"  If  that's  the  case,"  said  the  responsible  man 
of  the  constantly-increasing  group  after  question- 
ing Pussy,  "we'd  better  summon  the  militia  by 
the  ringing  of  the  bell,"  and  off  they  went  in  the 
direction  of  the  village,  while  Pussy  and  Ben 
went  home. 

The  next  day  saw  fifty  men,  well  armed,  and 
provisioned  for  three  days,  on  the  road  to  Leb- 
anon. They  marched  into  town  and  into  the 
now  famous  war-office  of  Governor  Trumbull,  to 
his  pleased  surprise. 

"Who  sent  you?"  asked  the  governor,  for  it 
was  not  yet  six  hours  since  the  demand  on  the 
nearest  town  had  been  made. 

"Who  sent  us?"  echoed  the  lieutenant,  look- 
ing confused  and  at  a  loss  to  explain,  and  finally 
answering  truthfully,  he  said  :  "  It  was  a  young 
6 


74  Pussy  Dean's  Beacon  Fire. 

girl,  your  excellency.  She  lit  a  beacon  fire  on 
a  hill  and  gave  the  command  that  we  report  to 
you." 

A  laugh  ran  around  the  sides  of  the  old  war- 
office.  The  messenger  who  had  ridden  from 
Cambridge  sat  upon  the  counter  pressing  his 
spurs  into  the  wood  and  heard  it  all. 

"  And  who  commissioned  the  girl  as  a  recruit- 
ing officer?"  questioned  the  governor. 

"  I'm  afraid,"  said  the  messenger,  "  1  am  the 
guilty  party.  I  met  a  young  patriot  in  scarlet 
cloak  who  asked  my  news,  and,  I  told  her." 

"Where  is  the  girl's  father?"  demanded 
Governor  Trumbull. 

"  He  is  with  the  army,  at  Cambridge,"  was 
the  response. 

"And  his  name?" 

"  Reuben  Dean." 

A  scratch  or  two  of  the  quill  pen  was  heard  on 
the  open  paper.  It  was  folded,  sealed,  and 
handed  to  the  ready  horseman,  with  the  words : 
"  Reuben  Dean  ;  he  is  mentioned  for  promotion." 

The  words,  as  they  were  spoken  by  Governor 
Trumbull,  were  caught  up  and  gathered  into  a 
mighty  cheer,  for  every  man  of  their  number 
knew  that  Reuben  Dean  was  worthy  of  promo- 
tion, even  had  his  daughter  not  gained  it  for  him 
by  her  services  as  recruiting  officer. 


DAVID   BUSHNEIX  AND   HIS 
AMERICAN  TURTLE. 

THE   FIRST   SUBMARINE   BOAT  INVENTED. 


AVID !  "  cried  a  voice  stern  and  com- 
manding, from  a  house-door  one 
morning,  as  the  young  man  who 
owned  the  name  was  taking  a  short 
cut  "  across  lots  "  in  the  direction  of  Pautapoug. 

"  Sir  !  "  cried  the  youth  in  response  to  the  call, 
and  pausing  as  nearly  as  he  could,  and  at  the 
same  time  keep  his  feet  from  sinking  into  the 
marshy  soil. 

"  Where  are  you  going?  "  was  the  response. 

"  To  Pautapoug,  to  see  Uriah  Hayden,  sir." 

"  You'd  better  hire  out  at  ship-building  with 
him.  Your  college  learning's  of  no  earthly  use 
in  these  days,"  said  the  father  of  David  Bushnell, 
returning  from  the  door,  and  sinking  slowly  down 
into  his  high-backed  chair. 

Then  spoke  up  a  sweet-voiced  woman  from  the 
kitchen  fire-side,  where  she  had  that  moment  been 
hanging  an  iron  pot  on  the  crane  : 

"  Have  a  little  patience,  father  (Mrs.  Bushnell 
always  called  her  husband,  father),  David  is  only 


76  David  Bushnell  and  his  American  Turtle. 

looking  about  to  see  what  to  do.  It's  hardly 
four  weeks  since  he  was  graduated." 

"  True  enough  ;  but  where  can  you  find  an  idle 
man  in  all  Saybrook  town?  and  you  know  as 
well  as  I  do  that  it  makes  men  despise  college- 
learning  to  see  folks  idle.  I'd  rather,  for  my 
part,  David  did  go  to  work  on  the  ship  Uriah 
Hayden  is  building.  I  wish  I  knew  what  he's 
gone  over  there  for  to-day." 

A  funny  smile  crept  into  the  curves  of  Mrs. 
Bushnell's  lips,  but  her  husband  did  not  notice  it. 

Mr.  Bushnell  moved  uneasily  in  his  chair,  as  he 
sat  leaning  forward,  both  hands  clasped  about  a 
hickory  stick,  and  his  chin  resting  on  the  knob  at 
its  top.  Presently  he  said  : 

"  Anna,  I  fear  David  is  getting  into  bad  habits. 
He  used  to  talk  a  good  deal.  Now  he  sits  with 
his  eyes  on  the  floor,  and  his  forehead  in  wrinkles, 
and  I'm  sure  I've  heard  him  moving  about  more 
than  one  night  lately,  after  all  honest  folks  were 
in  bed." 

"  Father,  you  must  remember  that  you've  been 
very  sick,  and  fever  gives  one  queer  notions 
sometimes.  I  shouldn't  wonder  one  bit  if  you 
dreamed  you  heard  something,  when  'twas  only 
the  rats  behind  the  wainscot." 

"  Rats  don't  step  like  a  grown  man  in  his 
stocking-feet,  nor  make  the  rafters  creak,  either." 

Madam  Bushnell  appeared  to  be  investigating 
the  contents  of  the  pot  hanging  on  the  crane,  and 
perhaps  the  heat  of  the  blazing  wood  was  suffi- 


David  Bushnell  and  his  American  Turtle.  77 

cient  to  account  for  the  burning  of  her  cheeks. 
She  cooled  them  a  moment  later  by  going  down 
cellar  after  cider,  a  mug  of  which  she  offered  to 
her  husband,  proposing  the  while  that  he  should 
have  his  chair  out  of  doors,  and  sit  under  the 
sycamore  tree  by  the  river-bank.  When  he 
assented,  and  she  had  seen  him  safely  in  the  chair, 
she  made  haste  to  David's  bed-room. 

Since  Mr.  Bushnell's  illness  began,  no  one  had 
ascended  to  the  chamber  except  herself  and  her 
son. 

On  two  shelves  hanging  against  the  wall  were 
the  books  that  he  had  brought  home  with  him 
from  Yale  College,  just  four  weeks  ago. 

A  table  was  drawn  near  to  the  one  window  in 
the  room.  On  it  were  bits  of  wood,  with  iron 
scraps,  fragments  of  glass  and  copper.  In  fact, 
the  same  thing  to-day  would  suggest  boat-building 
to  the  mother  of  any  lad  finding  them  among  her 
boy's  playthings.  To  this  mother  they  suggested 
nothing  beyond  the  fact  that  David  was  engaged 
in  something  which  he  wished  to  keep  a  profound 
secret. 

He  had  not  told  her  so.  It  had  not  been 
necessary.  She  had  divined  it  and  kept  silence, 
having  all  a  mother's  confidence  in,  and  hope  of, 
her  son's  success  in  life. 

As  she  surveyed  the  place,  she  thought : 

"  There  is  nothing  here,  even  if  he  (meaning 
her  husband)  should  take  it  into  his  head  to  come 
up  and  look  about." 


78          David  Bushnell  and  his  American  Turtle. 

Meanwhile  young  David  had  crossed  the 
Pochaug  River,  and  was  half  the  way  to 
Pautapoug. 

All  this  happened  more  than  a  thousand  moons 
ago,  when  all  the  land  was  aroused  and  astir,  and 
David  Bushnell  was  not  in  the  least  surprised  to 
meet,  at  the  ship-yard  of  Uriah  Hayden,  Jonathan 
Trumbull,  Governor  of  Connecticut. 

This  man  was  everywhere,  seeing  to  everything, 
in  that  year.  Whatever  his  country  needed,  or 
Commander-in-chief  Washington  ordered  from 
the  camp  at  Cambridge,  was  forthcoming. 

A  ship  had  been  demanded  of  Connecticut,  and 
so  Governor  Trumbull  had  come  down  from 
Lebanon  to  look  with  his  own  eyes  at  the  huge 
ribs  of  oak,  thereafter  to  sail  the  seas  as  "The 
Oliver  Cromwell." 

The  self-same  oaken  ribs  had  intense  interest 
for  young  David  Bushnell.  Uriah  Hayden  had 
promised  to  sell  to  him  all  the  pieces  of  ship-timber 
that  should  be  left,  and  while  the  governor  and 
the  builder  planned,  he  went  about  gathering 
together  fragments. 

"  Better  take  enough  to  build  a  boat  that  will 
carry  a  seine.  'T  won't  cost  you  a  mite  more,  and 
might  serve  you  a  good  turn  to  have  a  sizable 
craft  in  a  heavy  sea  some  day,"  said  Mr.  Hayden. 

Now  David  Bushnell  had  been  wishing  that  he 
had  some  good  and  sufficient  reason  to  give  Mr. 
Hayden  for  wanting  the  stuff  at  all,  and  here  he 
had  given  it  to  him. 


David  Bushnell  and  his  American  Turtle.  79 

"  That's  true,"  spoke  up  David,  "  but  how  am  I 
to  get  all  this  over  to  Pochaug  ?  " 

"  Don't  get  it  over  at  all,  until  it's  ready  to  row 
down  the  Connecticut,  and  around  the  Sound. 
You're  welcome  to  build  your  boat  at  the  yard, 
and,  now  and  then,  there  will  be  odd  minutes  that 
the  men  can  help  you  on  with  it." 

David  thanked  Mr.  Hayden,  grew  cheerful  ot 
heart  over  the  prospect  of  owning  a  boat  of  his 
own,  and  went  merrily  back  to  the  village  of 
Pochaug. 

Two  weeks  later  David's  boat  was  ready  for 
sea.  It  was  launched  into  the  Connecticut  from 
the  ways  on  which  the  "Oliver  Cromwell" 
grew,  was  named  Lady  Fenwick,  and,  when 
water-tight,  was  rowed  down  the  river,  past  Say- 
brook  and  Tomb  Hill,  and  so  into  the  Long 
Island  Sound. 

When  its  owner  and  navigator  went  by  Tomb 
Hill,  he  removed  his  hat,  and  bowed  reverently. 
He  thought  with  respect  and  admiration  of  the 
occupant  of  the  sandstone  tomb  on  its  height,  the 
Lady  Fenwick  who  had  slept  there  one  hundred 
and  thirty  years. 

With  blistered  palms  and  burning  fingers  David 
Bushnell  pushed  his  boat  with  pride  up  the 
Pochaug  River,  and  tied  it  to  a  stake  at  the 
bridge  just  beyond  the  sycamore  tree,  near  his 
father's  door. 

"  I'll  fetch  father  and  mother  out  to  see  it,"  he 
thought,  "  when  the  moon  gets  up  a  little  higher." 


8o          David  Bushnell  and  his  American  Turtle. 

With  boyish  pride  he  looked  down  at  the  work 
of  his  hands  from  the  river-bank,  and  went  in  to 
get  his  supper. 

"David!"  called  Mr.  Bushnell,  having  heard 
his  steps  in  the  entry-way. 

"  Here  I  am,  father,"  returned  the  young  man, 
appearing  within  the  room,  and  speaking  in  a 
cheerful  tone. 

"  Don't  you  think  you  have  wasted  about  time 
enough  ?" 

The  voice  was  high-wrought  and  nervous  in 
the  extreme.  He,  poor  man,  had  been  that  after- 
noon thinking  the  matter  over  in  a  convalescent's 
weak  manner  of  looking  upon  the  act  of  another 
man. 

David  Bushnell,  smiling  still,  and  taking  out  a 
large  silver  watch  from  his  waistcoat  pocket,  and 
looking  at  it,  replied  : 

"  I  haven't  wasted  one  moment,  father.  The 
tide  was  against  me,  but  I've  rowed  around  from 
Pautapoug  ship-yard  to  the  sycamore  tree  out 
here  since  two  o'clock." 

"  You  row  a  boat!"  cried  Mr.  Bushnell,  with 
lofty  disdain. 

"  Why,  father,  you  have  not  a  very  good  opin- 
ion of  your  son,  have  you?"  questioned  the  son. 
"Come,  though,  and  see  what  he  has  been  doing. 
Come,  mother,"  as  Mrs.  Bushnell  entered,  bear- 
ing David's  supper  in  her  hands. 

She  put  it  down.  Mr.  Bushnell  pulled  himself 
upright  with  a  groan  or  two,  and  suffered  David 


David  Bushnell  and  his  American  Turtle.  81 

to  assist  him  by  the  support  of  his  arm  as  they 
went  out. 

"  Why,  you  tremble  as  though  you  had  the 
palsy,"  said  the  father. 

"  It's  nothing.  I'm  not  used  to  pulling  so  long 
at  the  oar,"  said  the  son. 

When  they  came  to  the  bank,  the  full  moon 
shone  athwart  the  little  boat  rocking  on  the 
stream. 

"  What's  that?  "  exclaimed  both  parents. 

"  That  is  the  Lady  Fenwick.  I've  been  build- 
ing the  boat  myself.  You  advised  me,  father,  to 
go  to  ship-building  one  morning — do  you  remem- 
ber ?  1  took  your  advice,  and  began  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  ladder." 

"  You  built  that  boat  with  your  own  hands,  you 
say  ?  " 

"  With  my  own-hands,  sir." 

"  In  two  weeks'  time?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  And  rowed  it  all  the  way  down  the  river,  and 
up  the  Pochaug?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Good  boy  !  You  may  go  in  and  have  your 
supper,"  said  Mr.  Bushnell,  patting  him  on  the 
back,  just  as  he  had  done  when  he  returned  from 
college  with  his  first  award. 

As  for  Madam  Bushnell,  she  smiled  down  upon 
Lady  Fenwick  and  did  her  great  reverence  in  her 
heart,  while  she  said  to  the  boat-builder: 

"  David,  dear,  wait  a  few  minutes,  and  I'll  give 


82  David  Bushnell  and  his  American  Turtle. 

you  something  nice  and  warm  for  your  supper. 
Your  father,  Ezra  and  I  had  ours  long  ago." 

That  night  Mr.  Bushnell  did  not  lie  awake  to 
listen  for  the  stealthy  stepping  in  the  upper  room. 
He  slept  all  the  sounder,  because  he  had  at  last 
seen  one  stroke  of  honest  work,  as  he  called  it,  as 
the  result  of  his  endeavors  to  help  David  on  in 
life. 

As  for  David  himself,  he  went  to  sleep,  saying 
in  his  heart :  "  It  is  a  good  stepping-stone  at 
least;  "  which  conclusion  grew  into  form  in  sleep, 
and  shaped  itself  into  a  mighty  monster,  that 
bored  itself  under  mountains,  and,  after  taking  a 
nap,  roused  and  shook  itself  so  mightily  that  the 
mountain  flew  into  fragments  high  in  air. 

If  you  go,  to-day,  into  the  Connecticut  River 
from  Long  Island  Sound,  you  will  see  on  its  left 
bank  the  old  town  of  Saybrook,  on  its  right  the 
slightly  younger  town  of  Lyme,  and  you  will 
have  passed  by,  without  having  been  very  much 
interested  in  it,  an  island  lying  just  within  the 
shelter  of  either  bank. 

In  the  summer  of  1774  a  band  of  fishermen  put 
up  a  reel  upon  the  island,  on  which  to  wind  their 
seine.  Over  the  reel  they  built  a  roof  to  protect 
it  from  the  rains.  With  the  exception  of  the  reel, 
there  was  no  building  upon  the  island.  A  large 
portion  of  the  land  was  submerged  at  the  highest 
tides,  and  in  the  spring  freshets,  and  was  covered 
with  a  generous  growth  of  salt  grass,  in  which  a 
small  army  might  readily  find  concealment. 


David  Bushnell  and  his  American  Turtle.  83 

The  little  fishing  band  was  now  sadly  broken 
and  lessened  by  one  of  the  Washingtonian  de- 
mands upon  Brother  Jonathan.  For  reasons  that 
he  did  not  choose  to  give,  David  Bushnell  joined 
this  band  of  fishermen  in  the  summer  of  1775. 
Gradually  he  made  himself,  by  purchase,  the 
owner  of  the  larger  part  of  the  reel  and  seine. 
In  a  few  weeks'  time  he  had  induced  his  brother 
Ezra  to  become  as  much  of  a  fisherman  as  he 
himself  was. 

As  the  days  went  by,  the  brothers  fairly  haunted 
this  island.  They  gave  it  a  name  for  their  own 
use,  and,  early  in  the  day-dawn  of  many  a  morn- 
ing, they  pulled  the  Lady  Fenwick  wearily  up 
the  Pochaug,  to  snatch  a  few  winks  of  sleep  at 
home,  before  the  sun  should  fairly  rise  and  call 
them  to  their  daily  tasks,  for  David  assumed  to 
help  Ezra  on  the  farm,  even  as  Ezra  helped  him 
on  the  island. 

The  two  brothers  owned  the  reel  and  the  seine 
before  the  end  of  the  month  of  August  in  1775. 
As  soon  as  they  became  the  sole  owners,  they 
procured  lumber  and  enclosed  the  reel,  and  very 
seldom  took  down  the  seine  from  its  great  round 
perch  ;  they  used  it  just  often  enough  to  allay 
any  suspicion  as  to  their  real  object  in  becoming 
owners  of  the  fishing  implements. 

About  that  time  a  story  grew  into  general  be- 
lief that  the  tomb  of  Lady  Fenwick  was  haunted. 
Boatmen,  passing  in  the  stillness  of  the  solemn 
night  hours,  asserted  that  they  heard  strange 


84  David  Bushnell  and  his  American  Turtle. 

noises  issuing  from  the  hill,  just  where  the  lady 
slept  in  her  lonely  burial-place.  The  sounds 
seemed  to  emerge  from  the  earth,  and  timid  men 
passed  up  the  river  with  every  inch  of  sail  set  to 
catch  the  breeze,  lest  the  solemn  thud  should 
sound,  that  a  hundred  persons  were  willing  to  tes- 
tify had  been  heard  by  each  and  every  one  of  them, 
at  some  hour  of  the  night,  coming  from  the  tomb. 

One  evening  in  late  September,  the  two 
brothers  started  forth  as  usual,  nominally  to  "  go 
fishing."  As  they  stepped  down  the  bank,  Mr. 
Bushnell  followed  them. 

"Boys,"  said  he,  "it's  an  uncommon  fine  night 
on  the  water.  I  believe  I'll  take  a  seat  in  your 
boat,  with  your  permission.  I  used  to  like  fishing 
myself  when  I  was  young  and  spry." 

"And  leave  mother  alone  !  "  objected  David. 

"  She's  been  out  with  me  many  a  night  on  the 
Sound.  She's  brave,  and  won't  mind  a  good 
south-west  wind,  such  as  I  dare  say  breaks  in  on 
the  shore  this  minute.  Go  and  call  her." 

And  so  the  family  started  forth  to  go  fishing. 

This  was  a  night  the  two  brothers  had  been 
looking  forward  to  during  weeks  of  earnest  labor, 
and  now — well,  it  could  not  be  helped,  and  there 
was  not  a  moment  in  which  to  hold  counsel. 

Mr.  Bushnell  had  planned  this  surprise  early  in 
the  day,  but  had  not  told  his  wife  until  evening. 
Then  he  announced  his  determination  to  "  learn 
what  all  these  midnight  and  all-night  absences 
did  mean." 


David  Bushnell  and  his  American  Turtle.  85 

As  the  Lady  Fenwick  came  out  from  the 
Pochaug  River  into  the  Sound,  the  south-west 
wind  brought  crested  waves  to  shore.  The  wind 
was  increasing,  and,  to  the  great  relief  of  David 
and  Ezra,  Mr.  Bushnell  gave  the  order  to  turn 
back  into  the  river. 

The  next  day  David  Bushnell  asked  his  mother 
whether  or  not  she  knew  the  reason  his  father 
had  proposed  to  go  out  with  them  the  night 
before. 

"  Yes,  David,"  was  the  reply,  "  I  do." 

"Will  you  tell  me?" 

"  He  does  not  believe  that  you  and  Ezra  go 
fishing  at  all." 

"  What  do  you  believe  about  it,  mother?" 

"  I  believe  in  you,  David,  and  that  when  you 
have  anything  to  tell  to  me,  I  shall  be  glad  to 
listen." 

"  And  father  does  not  trust  me  yet ;  I  am  sorry," 
said  David,  turning  away.  And  then,  as  by  a 
sudden  impulse,  he  returned  and  said : 

"  If  you  can  trust  me  so  entirely,  mother,  we  can 
trust  you.  To-day,  two  gentlemen  will  be  here. 
You  will  please  be  ready  to  go  out  in  the  boat 
with  us  whenever  they  come." 

"Where  to?" 

"To  my  fishing  ground,  mother." 

The  strangers  arrived,  and  were  presented  to 
Mrs.  Bushnell  as  Dr.  Gale  and  his  friend,  Mr. 
Franklin. 

At  three  of  the  clock  the  little  family  set  off  in 


86  David  Bushnell  and  his  American  Turtle. 

the  row-boat.  Down  at  Pochaug  harbor,  there 
was  Mr.  Bushnell  hallooing  to  them  to  be  taken 
on  board. 

"  I  saw  my  family  starting  on  an  unknown 
voyage,"  he  remarked,  as  the  boat  approached 
the  shore  as  nearly  as  it  could,  while  he  waded 
out  to  meet  it. 

"Ah,  Friend  Gale,  is  that  you?"  he  said,  as 
with  dripping  feet  he  stepped  in.  "  And  whither 
bound?"  he  added,  dropping  into  a  seat. 

"  For  the  far  and  distant  land  of  the  unknown, 
Mr.  Bushnell.  Permit  me  to  introduce  you  to 
my  friend,  Mr.  Franklin." 

"  Franklin  !  Franklin !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Bush- 
nell, eyeing  the  stranger  a  little  rudely.  "  Doctor 
Benjamin  Franklin,  if  you  please,  Benjamin  Gale!  " 
he  corrected,  to  the  utter  amazement  of  the 
party. 

The  oars  missed  the  stroke,  caught  it. again, 
and,  for  a  minute,  poor  Dr.  Franklin  was  confused 
by  the  sudden  announcement  that  he  existed  at 
all,  and,  in  particular,  in  that  small  boat  on  the 
sea. 

"  Yes,  sir,  even  so,"  responded  Dr.  Gale,  cheer- 
fully adding,  "and  we're  going  down  to  see  the 
new  fishing  tackle  your  son  is  going  to  catch  the 
enemy's  ships  with." 

"  Fishing  tackle  !  Enemy's  ships  !  Why,  David 
is  the  laziest  man  in  all  Saybrook  town.  He  does 
nothing  with  his  first  summer  but  fish,  fish  all 
night  long  !  The  only  stroke  of  honest  work  I've 


David  Bushnell  and  his  American  Turtle.  87 

ever  known  him  to  do  was  to  build  this  boat  we're 
in." 

During  this  time  the  brothers  were  pulling  with 
a  will  for  the  island. 

Arrived  there,  the  boat  was  drawn  up  on  the 
sand,  the  seine-house  unlocked,  and,  when  the 
light  of  day  had  been  let  into  it,  fishing-reel  and 
seine  had  disappeared,  and,  in  the  language  of 
Doctor  Benjamin  Gale,  this  is  what  they  found 
therein : 

THE  AMERICAN  TURTLE. 

"The  body,  when  standing  upright,  in  the  position  in  which  it 
is  navigated,  has  the  nearest  resemblance  to  the  two  upper  shells 
of  the  tortoise,  joined  together.  It  is  seven  and  a  half  feet  long, 
and  six  feet  high.  The  person  who  navigates  it  enters  at  the 
top.  It  has  a  brass  top  or  cover  which  receives  the  person's 
head,  as  he  sits  on  a  seat,  and  is  fastened  on  the  inside  by 
screws. 

"  On  this  brass  head  are  fixed  eight  glasses,  viz :  two  before,  two 
on  each  side,  one  behind,  and  one  to  look  out  upwards.  On  the 
same  brass  head  are  fixed  two  brass  tubes  to  admit  fresh  air  when 
requisite,  and  a  ventilator  at  the  side,  to  free  the  machine  from 
the  air  rendered  unfit  for  respiration. 

"  On  the  inside  is  fixed  a  barometer,  by  which  he  can  tell  the 
depth  he  is  under  water ;  a  compass  by  which  he  knows  the 
course  he  steers.  In  the  barometer,  and  on  the  needles  of  the 
compass,  is  fixed  fox-fire— that  is,  wood  that  gives  light  in  the 
dark.  His  ballast  consists  of  about  nine  hundred-weight  of  lead, 
which  he  carries  at  the  bottom  and  on  the  outside  of  the  machine, 
part  of  which  is  so  fixed  as  he  can  let  run  down  to  the  bottom, 
and  serves  as  an  anchor  by  which  he  can  ride  ad  libitum. 

"  He  has  a  sounding  lead  fixed  at  the  bow,  by  which  he  can  take 
the  depth  of  water  under  him,  and  a  forcing-pump  by  which  he 
can  free  the  machine  at  pleasure,  and  can  rise  above  water,  and 
again  immerge,  as  occasion  requires. 


88  David  Bushnell  and  his  American  Turtle, 

"  In  the  bow  he  has  a  pair  of  oars  fixed  like  the  two  opposite 
arms  of  a  windmill,  with  which  he  can  row  forward,  and,  turning 
them  the  opposite  way,  row  the  machine  backward  ;  another  pair, 
fixed  upon  the  same  model,  with  which  he  can  row  the  machine 
round,  either  to  the  right  or  left ;  and  a  third  by  which  he  can  row 
the  machine  either  up  or  down  ;  all  of  which  are  turned  by  foot, 
like  a  spinning  wheel.  The  rudder  by  which  he  steers  he  man- 
ages by  hand,  within-board. 

"All  these  shafts  which  pass  through  the  machine  are  so  curi- 
ously fixed  as  not  to  admit  any  water. 

"  The  magazine  for  the  powder  is  carried  on  the  hinder  part  of 
the  machine,  without-board,  and  so  contrived  that,  when  he  comes 
under  the  side  of  a  ship,  he  rubs  down  the  side  until  he  comes  to 
the  keel,  and  a  hook  so  fixed  as  that  when  it  touches  the  keel  it 
raises  a  spring  which  frees  the  magazine  from  the  machine,  and 
fastens  it  to  the  side  of  the  ship  ;  at  the  same  time  it  draws  a  pin, 
which  sets  the  watch-work  a-going,  which,  at  a  given  time, 
springs  the  lock,  and  an  explosion  ensues." 

Thus  wrote  Dr.  Benjamin  Gale  to  Silas  Deane, 
member  of  Congress  at  Philadelphia.  His  letter 
bears  the  date  November  9,  1775,  and,  after 
describing  the  wonderful  machine,  he  adds  : 

"  I  well  know  the  man.  Lately  he  has  conducted  matters  with 
the  greatest  secrecy,  both  for  the  personal  safety  of  the  navigator, 
and  to  produce  the  greater  astonishment  to  those  against  whom 
it  is  designed  ;  and,  you  may  call  me  a  visionary,  an  enthusiast, 
or  what  you  please,  I  do  insist  upon  it  that  I  believe  the  inspira- 
tion of  the  Almighty  has  given  him  understanding  for  this  very 
purpose  and  design." 

When  the  seine-house  door  had  been  fastened 
open,  when  Dr.  Franklin  and  Dr.  Gale  had  gone 
within,  followed  by  the  two  brothers,  Mr.  Bush- 
nell and  his  wife  stood  without  looking  in,  and 
wondering  in  their  hearts  what  the  sight  they 
saw  could  mean ;  for,  of  the  intent  or  purpose  of 


David  Bushnell  and  the  American  Turtle.  89 

the  curious,  oaken,  iron-bound,  many-paddled, 
brass-headed,  window-lighted  thing,  they,  it  must 
be  remembered,  knew  nothing.  It  must  mean 
something  extraordinary,  of  course,  or  Doctor 
Franklin  would  never  have  thought  it  worth  his 
while  to  come  out  of  his  way  to  behold  it. 

"Father,"  whispered  Mrs.  Bushnell,  "it's  the 
fish  David  has  been  all  summer  catching." 

"Fish!"  ejaculated  Mr.  Bushnell,  "it's  more 
like  a  turtle." 

"  That's  good  !"  spoke  up  Dr.  Gale,  from  within. 
"  Turtle  it  shall  be." 

"It  is  the  first  submarine  boat  ever  made  —  a 
grand  idea,  wrought  into  substance,"  slowly  pro- 
nounced Dr.  Franklin  ;  "let  us  have  it  forth  into 
the  river." 

"And  run  the  risk  of  discovery?"  suggested 
David,  pleased  that  his  work  approved  itself  to 
the  man  of  science. 

"We  meant  to  try  it  last  night,  but  failed,"  said 
Ezra  Bushnell. 

"There,  now,  father,  don't  you  wish  we  had 
staid  at  home?"  whispered  Mrs.  Bushnell. 

"  No  !  "  growled  the  father.  "  They  would 
have  killed  themselves  getting  it  down  alone." 

He  stepped  within  and  laid  his  hand  on  the 
machine,  saying  : 

"Anna,  you  keep  watch,  and-,  if  any  boat  heaves 
in  sight,  let  us  know.  Does  the  Turtle  snap, 
David?"  he  questioned,  putting  forth  his  hand 
and  laying  it  cautiously  upon  the  animal. 


9©  David  Bushnell  and  the  American  Turtle. 

"  Never,  until  the  word  is  given,"  replied  the 
son,  and  then  ten  strong  hands  applied  the 
strength  within  them  to  lift  the  curious  piece  of 
mechanism  and  carry  it  without. 

The  seine-house  was  close  to  the  river-bank, 
and  in  a  half-hour's  time  the  American  Turtle 
was  in  its  native  element. 

Madam  Anna  Bushnell  kept  strict  watch  over 
the  shores  and  the  river,  but  not  a  sail  slid  into 
sight,  not  an  oar  troubled  the  waters  of  the  tide, 
as  it  tossed  back  the  tumble  of  the  down-flowing 
river. 

It  was  a  hard  duty  for  the  mother  to  perform  ; 
for,  at  a  glance  toward  the  bank,  she  saw  David 
step  into  the  machine,  and  the  brass  cover  close 
down  over  his  head.  She  felt  suffocating  fears 
for  him,  as,  at  last,  the  thing  began  to  move  into 
the  stream.  She  saw  it  go  out,  she  saw  it  slowly 
sinking,  going  down  out  of  sight,  until  even  the 
brass  head  was  submerged. 

Then  she  forsook  her  post,  and  hastened  to  the 
bank  to  keep  watch  with  the  rest. 

One,  two,  three  minutes  went  by.  The  men 
looked  at  the  surface  of  the  waters,  at  each  other, 
grew  thoughtful,  pale ;  the  mother  gasped  and 
dropped  on  the  salt  grass,  fainting ;  the  brother 
gave  to  Lad}7  Fenwick  a  running  push,  bounded 
on  board,  and  clutched  the  oars  to  row  swiftly  to 
the  spot  where  David  went  down. 

Mr.  Bushnell  filled  his  hat  with  water,  and 
sprinkled  the  pale  face  in  the  sedge. 


David  Biishnell  and  the  American  Turtle.  91 

"•There!  there /"  cried  Dr.  Franklin,  with  dis- 
tended eyes  and  eager  outlook. 

'•'•Where?  where?"  ejaculated  Dr.  Gale,  striving 
to  take  into  vision  the  whole  surface  of  the  river, 
at  a  glance. 

"  It's  all  right !  He's  coming  up  plump ! " 
shouted  Ezra,  from  his  boat,  as  he  rowed  with 
speed  for  the  spot  where  a  brass  tube  was  rising, 
sun-burnished,  from  the  Connecticut. 

Presently  the  brass  head,  with  its  very  small 
windows,  emerged,  even  the  oaken  sides  were 
rising, — and  Mr.  Bushnell  was  greeting  the  re- 
turning consciousness  of  his  wife  with  the  words: 

"It's  all  right,  mother.     David  is  safe." 

"  Don't  let  him  know,"  were  the  first  words  she 
spoke,  "  that  his  own  mother  was  so  faithless  as 
.to  doubt!" 

And  now,  paddle,  paddle,  toward  the  river-bank 
came  the  Turtle,  David  Bushnell's  head  rising 
out  of  its  shell,  proud  confidence  shining  forth 
from  his  eyes,  as  feet  and  hands  busied  themselves 
in  navigating  the  boat  that  had  lived  for  months 
in  his  brain,  and  now  was  living,  in  very  substance, 
under  his  control. 

As  he  neared  the  bank  a  shout  of  acclamation 
greeted  him. 

He  reached  the  island,  was  fairly  dragged  forth 
from  his  seat,  and  carried  up  to  the  spot  where 
his  mother  sat,  trying  to  overcome  every  trace  of 
past  doubt  and  fear. 

"  Now,"  said  Dr.  Gale,  "  let  us  give  thanks  unto 


92  David  Btishnell  and  the  American  Turtle. 

Him  who  hath  given  this  youth  understanding  to 
do  this  great  work." 

With  bared  heads  and  devout  hearts  the  thanks- 
giving went  upward,  and  thereafter  a  perfect 
shower  of  questions  pelted  David  Bushnell  con- 
cerning his  device  to  blow  up  ships  :  how  he  came 
to  think  of  it  at  all — where  he  got  this  idea  and 
that  as  to  its  construction — to  all  of  which  he 
simply  said : 

"  You'll  find  your  answer  in  the  prayer  you've  just 
offered!" 

"  But,"  said  practical  Mr.  Bushnell,  "  the  Lord 
did  not  send  you  money  to  buy  oak  and  iron  and 
brass,  did  he?" 

"Yes,"  returned  David,  "by  the  hand  of  my 
good  friend,  Dr.  Gale.  To  him  belongs  half  the 
victory." 

"Pshaw!  pshaw!"  impatiently  uttered  the 
doctor.  "  I  tell  you  it  is  no  such  thing !  I  only 
advanced  My  Lady  here,"  turning  to  Madam 
Bushnell,  "  a  little  money,  on  her  promise  to  pay 
me  at  some  future  time.  I'm  mightily  ashamed 
now  that  I  took  the  promise  at  all.  Madam  Bush- 
nell, I'll  never  take  a  penny  of  it  back  again,  never, 
as  long  as  I  live.  I  will  have  a  little  of  the  credit 
of  this  achievement,  and  no  one  shall  hinder  me." 

"How  is  that,  mother?"  questioned  Mr.  Bush- 
nell. "  You  borrow  money  and  not  tell  me  ! "  and 
David  and  Ezra  looked  at  her. 

"  I — I — "  stammered  forth  the  woman,  "  I  only 
guessed  that  David  was  doing  something  that  he 


David  Bushnell  and  the  American  Turtle.  93 

wanted  money  for,  and  told  Dr.  Gale  if  he  gave 
it  to  him  I  would  repay  it.  Do  you  care,  father?" 

Before  he  had  a  chance  to  get  an  answer  in, 
David  Bushnell  stepped  forward,  and,  taking  the 
little  figure  of  his  mother  in  his  arms,  kissed  her 
sharply,  and  walked  away,  to  give  some  imaginary 
attention  to  the  Turtle  at  the  bank. 

"  It  is  a  fair  land  to  work  for  ! "  spoke  up  Doctor 
Franklin,  looking  about  upon  river  and  earth  and 
sea ;  "  worthy  it  is  of  our  highest  efforts ;  of  our 
lives,  even,  if  need  be.  God  give  us  strength  as 
our  need  shall  be." 

With  many  a  tug  and  pull  and  hearty  heave-ho, 
the  Turtle  was  hoisted  up  the  bank  and  safely 
drawn  into  the  seine-house.  The  door  was  locked, 
and  Lady  Fen  wick's  tomb  gave  forth  no  sound 
that  night. 

Doctor  Franklin  went  his  way  to  Boston.  Doc- 
tor Gale  returned  to  Killingworth  and  his  waiting 
patients,  and  the  Bushnells,  father,  mother  and 
sons,  having  put  the  two  gentlemen  on  the  Say- 
brook  shore,  went  down  the  river  into  the 
Sound,  along  its  edge,  and  up  the  small  Pochaug 
to  their  own  home  by  the  sycamore  tree. 

Mr.  Bushnell  and  Ezra  did  the  rowing  that 
night.  David's  white  hands  had,  somehow,  a 
new  radiance  in  them  for  his  father's  eyes,  and 
did  not  seem  exactly  fitted  for  rowing  just  a  com- 
mon boat  and  every-day  oars. 

The  young  man  sat  in  the  stern,  beside  his 
mother,  one  arm  around  her  waist,  and  the  other 


94  David  Bushnell  and  the  American  Turtle. 

clasped  closely  between  her  little  palms,  while, 
now  and  then,  her  finding  eyes  would  penetrate 
his  consciousness  with  a  glance  that  seemed  to 
say,  "  I  always  believed  in  you,  David." 


If  you  go  to-day  and  stand  upon  the  site  of  the 
old  fort,  built  at  the  mouth  of  the  Connecticut 
River,  in  the  year  1635,  by  Lion  Gardiner,  once 
engineer  in  the  service  of  the  Prince  of  Orange, 
and  search  the  waters  up  and  down  for  the  island 
on  which  David  Bushnell  built  the  American 
Turtle  in  1775,  you  will  not  find  it. 

If  you  seek  the  oldest  inhabitant  of  Saybrook, 
and  ask  him  to  point  out  its  locality,  he  will  say, 
with  boyhood's  fondness  for  olden  play-grounds 
in  his  tone : 

"  Ah,  yes  !  It  is  Poverty  Island  that  you  mean. 
It  used  to  be  there,  but  spring  freshets  and  beat- 
ing storms  have  washed  it  away." 

The  unexpected  visit  of  Dr.  Benjamin  Franklin, 
to  see  the  machine  David  Bushnell  was  building, 
gave  new  force  to  that  young  gentleman's  confi- 
dence in  his  own  powers  of  invention. 

He  worked  with  increased  energy  and  hope  to 
perfect  boat  and  magazine,  that  he  might  do  good 
service  with  them  before  winter  should  fall  on 
the  waters  of  the  Massachusetts  Bay,  where  the 
hostile  ships  were  lying. 


David  Bushnell  and  the  American  Turtle.  95 

At  last  came  the  day  wherein  the  final  trial-trip 
should  be  made.  The  pumps  built  by  Mr.  Doo- 
little,  but  not  according  to  order,  had  failed  once, 
but  new  ones  had  been  supplied,  and  everything 
seemed  propitious.  David  and  Ezra,  with  their 
mother  in  the  boat,  rowed  once  more  to  Poverty 
Island.  "  On  the  morrow  the  great  venture 
should  begin,"  they  said. 

The  time  was  mid-October.  The  forests  had 
wrapped  the  cooling  coast  in  warmth  of  coloring 
that  was  soft  and  many-hued  as  the  shawls  of 
Cashmere,  while  the  sun-made  fringe  of  golden- 
rod  fell  along  the  shores  of  river  and  island  and 
sea. 

Mrs.  Bushnell's  heart  beat  proudly  above  the 
fond  affection  that  could  not  suppress  a  shiver,  as 
the  Turtle  was  pushed  into  the  stream.  She 
could  not  help  seeing  that  David  made  a  line  fast 
from  the  seine-house  to  his  boat  ere  he  went 
down.  They  watched  many  minutes  to  see  him 
rise  to  the  surface,  but  he  did  not. 

"  Mother,"  said  Ezra,  "  the  pump  for  forcing 
water  out  when  he  wants  to  rise  don't  work,  and 
we  must  pull  him  in.  He  feared  it." 

As  he  spoke  the  words  he  laid  hold  on  the  line, 
and  began  gently  to  draw  on  it. 

"Hurry!  hurry!  do!"  cried  Mrs.  Bushnell, 
seizing  the  same  line  close  to  the  water's  edge, 
and  drawing  on  it  with  all  her  strength.  She 
was  vexed  that  Ezra  had  not  told  her  the  danger 
in  the  beginning,  and  she  "  knew  very  well  that 


g6  David  Bushnell  and  the  American  Turtle. 

SHE  would  not  have  stood  there  and  let  David 
die  of  suffocation,  in  that  horrid,  brass-topped 
coffin ! " 

"  Hold,  mother  !  "  cried  Ezra  ;  "  pull  gently,  or 
the  line  may  part  on  some  barnacled  rock  if  it 
gets  caught." 

Nevertheless,  Mrs.  Bushnell  pulled  in  as  fast  as 
she  could. 

The  tide  was  sweeping  up  the  river,  and  a 
shark,  in  hard  chase  after  a  school  of  menhaden, 
swam  steadily  up,  with  fin  out  of  water. 

Just  as  the  shark  reached  the  place,  he  made  a 
dive,  and  the  rope  parted  ! 

Mrs.  Bushnell  screamed  a  word  or  two  of  the 
terror  that  had  seized  her.  Ezra  looked  up, 
amazed  to  find  the  rope  coming  in  so  readily, 
hand  over  hand.  He  cast  it  down,  sprang  to  the 
boat,  and  pushed  off  to  the  possible  rescue,  only 
to  find  that  the  Turtle  was  making  for  the  river- 
bank  instead  of  the  island. 

He  rowed  to  the  spot.  His  brother,  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life,  was  overcome  with  disap- 
pointment and  disinclined  to  talk. 

"I  —  I,"  said  David,  wiping  his  forehead.  "  I 
grew  tired,  and  made  for  shore.  The  tide  was 
taking  me  up  fast." 

"  Did  you  let  go  the  line?"  questioned  Ezra. 

"Yes." 

"The  pump  works  all  right,  then?" 

"  Yes." 

"  You've  frightened  mother  terribly." 


David  Bushnell  and  the  American  Turtle.  97 

"  Have  I  ?  I  never  thought.  I  forgot  she  was 
here.  Let  us  get  back,  then ;"  and  the  two 
brothers,  without  speaking  a  word,  rowed  down 
against  the  sweep  of  tide,  the  great  Turtle  in  tow. 

The  three  went  home,  still  keeping  a  silence 
broken  only  by  briefest  possible  question  and 
answer. 

The  golden  October  night  fell  upon  the  old 
town.  Pqchaug  River,  its  lone  line  of  silver 
gathered  in  many  a  stretch  of  interval  into  which 
the  moon  looked  calmly  down,  lay  on  the  land 
for  many  a  mile. 

Again  and  again,  during  the  evening,  David 
Bushneli  went  out  from  the  house  and  stood 
silently  on  the  rough  bridge  that  crossed  the 
river  by  the  door. 

"  Let  David  alone,  mother,"  urged  Ezra,  as  she 
was  about  to  follow  him  on  one  occasion.  "  He 
is  thinking  out  something,  and  is  better  alone." 

That  which  the  young  man  was  thinking  at  the 
moment  was,  that  he  wished  the  moon  would 
hurry  and  go  down.  He  longed  for  darkness. 

The  night  was  growing  cold.   Frost  was  in  the  air. 

As  he  stood  on  the  rough  logs,  a  post-rider, 
hurrying  by  with  letters,  came  up. 

"  Holloa  there  !"  he  called  aloud,  not  liking  the 
looks  of  the  man  on  the  bridge. 

"  It's  I, — David  Bushnell,  Joe  Downs  !  You  can 
ride  by  in  safety,"  he  responded,  ringing  out  one 
of  his  merriest  chimes  of  laughter  at  the  very 
idea  of  being  taken  for  a  highwayman. 


98  David  Bushnell  and  the  American  Turtle. 

"  I've  news,"  said  Joe  ;  "  want  it?" 

"  Yes." 

Joe  Downs  opened  his  pocket,  and,  by  the  light 
of  the  moon,  found  the  letter  he  had  referred  to. 

"  Dr.  Gale  told  me  not  to  fail  to  put  this  into 
your  hands  as  I  came  by.  I  should  kind  o'  judge, 
by  the  way  he  spoke,  that  the  continent  couldn't 
get  along  very  well  ''thout  you,  if  I  hadn't  known 
a  thing  or  two.  Howsomever,  here's  the  letter, 
and  I've  to  jog  on  to  Guilford  afore  the  moon 
goes  down.  So  good-night." 

"  Good  night,  Joe.  Thank  you  for  stopping," 
said  David,  going  into  the  house. 

"  Were  you  expecting  that  letter,  David  ?" 
questioned  Mr.  Bushnell,  when  it  had  been  read. 

"  No,  sir.  It  is  from  Dr.  Gale.  He  asks  me  to 
hasten  matters  as  far  as  possible,  but  a  new  con- 
trivance will  have  to  go  in  before  I  am  ready." 

"There!  Thafs  what  troubles  him,"  thought 
both  Mrs.  Bushnell  and  Ezra,  and  they  exchanged 
glances  of  sympathy  and  satisfaction — and  the 
little  household  went  to  sleep,  quite  care-free 
that  night. 

At  two  of  the  clock,  with  nearly  noiseless 
tread,  David  Bushnell  left  the  house. 

As  the  door  closed  his  mother  moved  uneasily 
in  her  sleep,  and  awoke  with  the  sudden  con- 
sciousness that  something  uncanny  had  happened. 
She  looked  from  a  window  and  saw,  by  the 
light  of  a  low-lying  moon,  that  David  had  gone 
out. 


David  Bushnell  and  the  American  Turtle.  99 

Without  awakening  her  husband  she  protected 
herself  with  needful  clothing,  and,  wrapped  about 
in  one  of  the  curious  plaid  blankets  of  mingled 
blue  and  white,  adorned  with  white  fringe,  that 
are  yet  to  be  found  in  the  land,  she  followed  into 
the  night. 

Save  for  the  sleepy  tinkle  of  the  water  over  the 
stones  in  the  Pochaug  River,  and  an  occasional 
cry  of  a  night-bird  still  lingering  by  the  sea,  the 
air  was  very  still. 

With  light  tread  across  the  bridge  she  ran  a 
little  way,  and  then  ventured  a  timid  cry  of  her 
own  into  the  night : 

"  David  !  David  !" 

Now  David  Bushnell  hoped  to  escape  without 
awakening  his  mother.  He  was  lingering  near, 
to  learn  whether  his  going  had  disturbed  anyone, 
and  he  was  quite  prepared  for  the  call. 

Turning  back  to  meet  her  he  thought :  "  What 
a  mother  mine  is."  And  he  said,  "  Well,  mother, 
what  is  it?  I  was  afraid  I  might  disturb  you." 

"  O  David  !"  was  all  that  she  could  utter  in 
response. 

"  And  so  you  are  troubled  about  me,  are  you  ? 
I'm  only  going  to  chase  the  will-o'-the.wisp  a 
little  while,  and  I  could  not  do  it,  you  know, 
until  moon-down.'' 

"  O  David  !"  and  this  time  with  emphatic  pres- 
sure on  his  arm,  "  David,  come  home.  /  can't 
let  you  go  off  alone." 

"  Come  with  me,  then.     You're  well  blanketed, 


ioo         David  Bushnell  and  the  American  Turtle. 

I  see.  I'd  much  rather  have  some  one  with  me, 
only  Ezra  was  tired  and  sleepy." 

He  said  this  with  so  much  of  his  accustomed 
manner  that  Mrs.  Bushnell  put  her  hand  within 
his  arm  and  went  on,  quite  content  now,  and  will- 
ing that  he  should  speak  when  it  pleased  him  to 
do  so,  and  it  pleased  him  very  soon. 

"  Little  mother,"  he  said,  "  I  am  afraid  you  are 
losing  faith  in  me." 

"  Never !  David  ;  only — I  was  a  little  afraid  that 
you  were  losing  your  own  head,  or  faith  in  your- 
self." 

"  No ;  but  I  am  afraid  I've  lost  my  faith  in 
something  else.  I  showed  you  the  two  bits  of 
fox-fire  that  were  crossed  on  one  end  of  the 
needle  in  the  compass,  and  the  one  bit  made  fast 
to  the  other?  Well,  to-day,  when  I  went  to  the 
bottom  of  the  river,  the  fox-fire  gave  no  light,  and 
the  compass  was  useless.  Can  you  understand 
how  bad  that  would  be  under  an  enemy's  ship, 
not  to  know  in  which  direction  to  navigate?" 

"  You  must  have  fresh  fire,  then." 

"  That  is  just  what  I  am  out  for  to-night.  I 
had  to  wait  till  the  moon  was  gone." 

"Oh!  is  that  all?  How  foolish  I  have  been! 
but  you  ought  to  tell  me  some  things,  sometimes, 
David." 

"And  so  I  will.  I  tell  you  now  that  it  will  be 
well  for  you  to  go  home  and  go  to  sleep.  I  may 
have  to  go  deep  into  the  woods  to  find  the  fire  1 
want." 


David  Bushnell  and  the  American  Turtle.         101 

But  his  mother  only  walked  by  his  side  a  little 
faster  than  before,  and  on  they  went  to  a  place 
where  a  bit  of  woodland  had  grown  up  above 
fallen  trees. 

They  searched  in  places  wherein  both  had  seen 
the  fire  of  decaying  wood  a  hundred  times,  but 
not  one  gleam  of  phosphorescence  could  be  found 
anywhere.  At  last  they  turned  to  go  homeward. 

"  What  will  you  do,  David?  Go  and  search  in 
the  Killingworth  woods  to-morrow  night  ?"  she 
asked,  as  they  drew  near  home. 

"  It  is  of  no  use,"  he  said,  with  a  sigh.  "  It 
must  be  that  the  frost  destroys  the  fox-fire.  Un- 
less Dr.  Franklin  knows  of  a  light  that  will  not 
eat  up  the  air,  everything  must  be  put  off  until 
spring." 

The  next  day  David  Bushnell  went  to  Killing- 
worth,  to  tell  the  story  to  Dr.  Gale,  and  Dr.  Gale 
wrote  to  Silas  Deane  (Conn.  Historical  Col.,  Vol. 
2),  begging  him  to  inquire  of  Dr.  Franklin  con- 
cerning the  possibility  of  using  the  Philosopher's 
Lantern,  but  no  light  was  found,  and  the  poor 
Turtle  was  housed  in  the  seine-house  on  Poverty 
Island  during  the  long  winter,  which  proved  to 
be  one  of  great  mildness  from  late  December  to 
mid-February. 

In  February  we  find  David  Bushnell  before 
Governor  Jonathan  Trumbull  and  his  Council  at 
Lebanon,  to  tell  about  and  illustrate  the  marvels 
of  his  wonderful  machine. 

During  this  time  the  whole  affair  had  been  kept 


IO2         David  Bushnell  and  the  American  Turtle. 

a  profound  secret  from  all  but  the  faithful  few 
surrounding  the  inventor.  And  now,  if  ever,  the 
time  was  drawing  near  wherein  the  labor  and 
outlay  must  either  repay  laborer  and  lender,  or 
give  to  both  great  trouble  and  distress. 

I  cannot  tell  you  with  what  trepidation  the 
young  man  walked  into  the  War  Office  at  Leb- 
anon, with  a  very  small  Turtle  under  his  arm. 

You  will  please  remember  the  situation  of  the 
colonists  at  that  moment.  On  the  land  they 
feared  not  to  contend  with  Englishmen.  Love  of 
liberty  in  the  Provincials  was  strong  enough, 
when  united  with  a  trusty  musket  and  a  fair 
supply  of  powder,  to  encounter  red-coated  regu- 
lars of  the  British  army  ;  but  on  the  ocean,  and 
in  every  bay,  harbor  and  river,  they  were  power- 
less. The  enemy's  ships  had  kept  Boston  in 
siege  for  nearly  two  years,  the  Americans  having 
no  opposing  force  to  contend  with  them. 

Could  this  little  Turtle,  which  David  Bushnell 
carried  under  his  arm,  do  the  work  he  wished  it 
to,  why,  every  ship  of  the  line  could  be  blown 
into  the  air ! 

The  inventor  had  faith  in  his  invention,  but  he 
feared,  when  he  looked  into  the  faces  of  the 
grave  Governor  and  his  Council  of  War,  that  he 
could  never  impart  his  own  belief  to  them. 

I  cannot  tell  you  with  what  trust  of  heart  and 
faith  of  soul  Mrs.  Bushnell  kept  the  February 
day  in  the  house  by  the  bridge  at  Pochaug. 
Even  the  strong-minded,  sturdy-nerved  Mr.  Bush- 


David  Bushnell  and  the  American  Turtle.         103 

nell  looked  often  up  the  road  by  which  David 
and  Ezra  would  approach  from  Lebanon,  with  a 
keen  interest  in  his  eyes  ;  but  he  would  not  let 
any  word  escape  him,  until  darkness  had  fallen 
and  they  were  not  come. 

"  He  said  he  would  be  here  at  eight,  at  the 
very  latest,"  said  the  mother  at  length,  and  she 
went  to  the  fire  and  placed  before  the  burning 
coals  two  chickens  to  broil. 

"  I'm  afraid  David  won't  have  much  appetite, 
unless  his  model  should  be  approved,  and  money 
is  too  precious  to  spend  on  experiments?  said  Mr. 
Bushnell,  as  she  returned  to  his  side. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  you  doubt?" 

"  Of  course  I  doubt.  Jonathan  Trumbull  is  a 
man  not  at  all  likely  to  give  his  consent  to  anything 
that  does  not  commend  itself  to  common  sense." 

Mr.  Bushnell  was  saved  the  pain  of  saying  his 
thought,  that  he  was  afraid,  if  David's  plan  was  a 
good  one,  somebody  would  have  thought  of  it  long 
ago,  for  vigorous  knuckles  were  at  work  upon 
the  winter-door. 

As  soon  as  it  was  opened  the  genial  form  of 
good  Dr.  Gale  stood  revealed. 

"Are  the  boys  back  yet?"  he  asked,  stepping 
within. 

"  No,  but  we  expect  them  every  minute,"  said 
Mr.  Bushnell. 

"  Well,  friends,  I  had  a  patient  within  three 
miles  of  you  to  visit,  and  I  thought  I'd  come  on 
and  hear  the  news." 


104         David  Bushnell  and  the  American  Turtle. 

Ere  he  was  fully  made  welcome  to  hearth  and 
home,  in  walked  David,  with  the  little  Turtle 
under  his  arm.  Without  ado  he  went  up  to  his 
mother  and  said : 

"  Madam,  I  present  this  to  you,  with  Governor 
Trumbull's  compliments.  He  has  ordered  your 
boy  money,  men,  metals  and  powder  without  stint 
to  work  with.  Wish  me  joy,  won' t  you  ?  " 

I  do  not  anywhere  find  a  record  of  the  words 
in  which  the  joy  was  wished,  on  that  2nd  of  Feb- 
ruary, a  hundred  years  ago,  but  it  is  easy  to 
imagine  the  very  tones  in  which  the  good,  God- 
loving  Dr.  Gale  gave  thanks  for  the  new  blessing 
that  had  that  day  fallen  on  his  friend's  house. 

It  is  impossible  to  follow  David  Bushnell  in  his 
many  journeys  to  the  iron  furnaces  of  Salisbury, 
in  the  spring  and  early  summer  of  1776,  during 
which  time  the  entire  country  was  aroused  and 
astir  from  the  removal  of  the  American  army  from 
Boston  to  New  York;  and  our  friends  at  Say- 
brook  were  busy  as  bees  from  morning  till  night, 
in  getting  ready  perfect  machines  for  duty, 

David  Bushnell's  strength  proved  insufficient 
to  navigate  one  of  his  Turtles  in  the  tidal  waters 
of  the  Sound,  and  his  brother  Ezra  learned  to  do 
it  most  perfectly. 

In  the  latter  end  of  June,  the  British  fleet, 
which  had  sailed  out  of  Boston  harbor  so  inglori- 
ously  on  the  i7th  of  March,  for  Halifax,  there  to 
await  re-inforcements,  appeared  in  waters  adjacent 
to  New  York. 


David  Bushnell  and  his  American  Turtle.         105 

The  signal  of  their  approach  was  gladly  hailed 
by  the  inventor  and  by  the  navigator  of  the 
American  Turtle. 

A  whale-boat  from  New  London,  her  seamen 
sworn  to  inviolable  secrecy,  was  ordered  to  be  in 
the  river  at  a  given  point,  on  a  given  night,  for  a 
service  of  which  the  men  were  utterly  ignorant. 

On  the  evening  previous,  Ezra  Bushnell,  over- 
worn by  many  attempts  at  navigating  the 
machine,  was  taken  seriously  ill.  At  midnight  he 
was  delirious — at  day-dawn  Dr.  Gale  was  sent  for. 

When  night  fell  he  was  in  a  raging  fever,  with 
no  prospect  of  rapid  recovery. 

David  set  off  alone,  and  with  a  heavy  heart,  to 
meet  the  boatmen.  In  the  seine-house  on  Poverty 
Island  the  brothers  had  stored  provisions  for  a 
cruise  of  several  days.  To  this  spot  David  Bush- 
nell went  alone,  and  with  a  saddened  heart,  for 
he  knew  that  it  must  be  many  days  ere  he  could 
learn  of  his  brother's  condition. 

The  New  London  boatmen  were  promptly  at 
the  appointed  place  of  meeting. 

When  they  saw  the  curious  thing  they  were 
told  to  take  in  tow,  their  curiosity  knew  no 
bounds ;  and  it  was  only  when  assured  that  it  was 
dangerous  to  examine  it,  that  they  desisted  from 
their  determination  to  know  all  about  it,  and  con- 
sented to  obey  orders. 

When,  at  last,  a  departure  was  made,  the  hour 
was  midnight,  the  tide  served,  and  no  ill-timed 
discovery  was  made  of  the  deed. 


io6         David  Bushnell  and  his  American  Turtle. 

The  strong-armed  boatmen  rowed  well  and 
long-,  and,  as  daylight  dawned,  they  were  directed 
to  keep  a  look-out  for  Faulkner's  Island,  a  small 
bit  of  land  in  the  Sound,  nearly  five  miles  from 
the  Connecticut  shore. 

The  flashing  light  that  illumines  the  waters  at 
night  for  us,  did  not  gleam  on  them,  but  never- 
theless, the  high  brown  bank  and  the  little  slope 
of  land  looked  inviting  to  weary  men,  as  they 
cautiously  rowed  near  to  it,  not  knowing  whom 
they  might  meet  there. 

They  landed,  made  a  fire,  cooked  their  food,  ate 
of  it,  and  lay  down  to  sleep  until  night  should 
come  again. 

They  set  out  early  in  the  ensuing  twilight,  and 
rowed  westward  all  night,  in  the  face  of  a  gentle 
wind. 

"  If  there  were  only  another  Faulkner's  Island 
to  flee  to,"  said  Mr.  Bushnell,  as  morning  drew 
near.  "  Do  you  know  (to  one  of  the  men)  a  safe 
place  to  hide  in  on  this  coast?" 

They  were  then  off  Merwin's  Point,  and  be- 
tween West  Haven  and  Milford. 

"  There's  Poquahaug,"  was  the  reply,  with  a 
momentary  catch  of  the  oar,  and  incline  of  the 
head  toward  the  south-west. 

"  What  is  Poquahaug?" 

"  A  little  island,  pretty  well  in,  close  to  shore, 
as  it  were,  and,  maybe,  deserted." 

After  deliberate  council  had  been  held  it  was 
resolved  to  examine  the  locality. 


David  Bushnell  and  his  American  Turtle.         107 

A  few  years  after  New  Haven  and  Milford 
churches  were  formed  under  the  oak-tree  at  New 
Haven,  this  little  island,  to  which  they  were 
fleeing  to  hide  the  Turtle  from  daylight,  was 
"  granted  to  Charles  Deal  for  a  tobacco  planta- 
tion, provided  that  he  would  not  trade  with  the 
Dutch  or  Indians  ;  "  but  now  Indians,  Dutch  and 
Charles  Deal  alike  had  left  it,  the  latter  with  a 
rude,  sheltering  building  in  place  of  Ansantawae's 
big  summer  wigwam  that  used  to  adorn  its  crest. 

To  this  spot,  bright  with  grass,  and  green  with 
full-foliaged  trees  of  oak  on  its  eastern  shore,  the 
weary  boatmen,  who  had  had  a  long,  hard  pull  of 
twenty  miles  to  make,  came,  just  as  the  longest 
day's  sun  was  at  its  rising. 

They  were  so  glad  and  relieved  and  satisfied  to 
find  no  one  on  it. 

The  Turtle  was  left  at  anchor  near  the  shore ; 
the  whale-boat  gave  up  of  its  provisions,  and 
presently  the  little  camp  was  in  the  enjoyment  of 
a  long  day  of  rest  and  refreshment. 

Should  anyone  approach  from  the  seaward  or 
from  the  mainland,  it  was  determined  that  the 
party  should  resolve  itself  into  a  band  of  fisher- 
men, fishing  for  striped  bass,  for  which  the 
locality  was  well  known. 

As  the  day  wore  on,  and  the  falling  tide  re- 
vealed a  line  of  stones  that  gradually  increased, 
as  the  water  fell,  to  a  bar  a  hundred  feet  wide, 
stretching  from  the  island  to  the  sands  of  the 
Connecticut  shore,  David  Bushnell  perceived 


io8         David  Bushnell  and  his  American  Turtle. 

that  the  locality  was  just  the  proper  place  in 
which  to  learn  and  teach  the  art  of  navigating  the 
Turtle.  He  examined  the  region  well,  and  then 
called  the  men  together. 

They  were  staunch,  good-hearted  fellows, 
accustomed  to  long  pulls  in  northern  seas  after 
whales,  and  that  they  were  patriotic  he  fully  be- 
lieved. The  Turtle  was  drawn  up  under  the 
grassy  bank,  where  the  long  sedge  half  hid,  and 
bushels  of  rock-weed  and  sea-drift  wholly  con- 
cealed it,  and  then,  in  a  few  carefully-chosen 
words,  David  Bushnell  entrusted  it  to  the  watch 
and  care  of  the  boatmen. 

"  I  am  going  to  leave  it  here,  and  you  with  it, 
until  I  return,"  he  said.  "  Guard  it  with  your 
lives  if  need  be.  If  you  handle  it,  it  will  be  at 
the  risk  of  life.  If  you  keep  it  well,  Congress  will 
reward  you. 

The  mystery  of  the  whole  affair  enchanted  the 
men.  They  made  faithful  promises,  and,  in  the 
glorious  twilight  of  the  evening,  rowed  David 
Bushnell  across  the  beautiful  stretch  of  Sound 
that  to-day  separates  Charles  Island  from  the 
comely  old  town  of  Milford. 

As  the  whale-boat  went  up  the  harbor,  a  sailing 
vessel  was  getting  ready  to  depart. 

Finding  that  it  was  bound  to  New  York,  David 
Bushnell  took  passage  in  it  the  same  night. 

Two  days  later,  with  a  letter  from  Governor 
Trumbull  to  General  Washington  as  his  introduc- 
tion, the  young  man,  by  command  of  the  latter, 


David  Bushnell  and  his  American  Tiirtle.         109 

sought  out  General  Parsons,  and  "  requested  him 
to  furnish  him  with  two  or  three  men  to  learn  the 
navigation  of  his  new  machine.  General  Parsons 
immediately  sent  for  Ezra  Lee,  then  a  sergeant, 
and  two  others,  who  had  offered  their  services  to 
go  on  board  a  fireship;  and,  on  Bushnell's  request 
being  made  known  to  them,  they  enlisted  them- 
selves under  him  for  this  novel  piece  of  service." 

Returning  to  Poquahaug  (the  Indian  name  of 
Charles  Island),  the  American  Turtle  was  found 
safe  and  sound.  Here  the  little  party  spent  many 
days  in  experimenting  with  it  in  the  waters  about 
the  island  ;  and  in  the  Housatonic  River. 

During  this  time  the  enemy  had  got  possession 
of  a  portion  of  Long  Island,  and  of  Governor's 
Island  in  the  harbor — thus  preventingthe  approach 
to  New  York  by  the  East  River. 

When  the  appalling  news  of  the  battle  of  Long 
Island  reached  David  Bushnell,  he  resolved,  cost 
what  it  might  of  danger  to  himself,  or  hazard 
to  the  Turtle,  to  get  it  to  New  York  with  all 
speed. 

To  that  end  he  had  it  conveyed  by  water  to 
New  Rochelle,  there  landed  and  carried  across 
the  country  to  the  Hudson  River,  and  presently 
we  hear  of  it  as  being  on  a  certain  night,  late  in 
August,  ready  to  start  on  its  perilous  enterprise. 

If  you  will  go  to-day  and  stand  where  the  Tur- 
tle floated  that  night  (for  the  land  has  since  that 
time  grown  outward  into  the  sea),  on  your  right 
hand  across  the  Hudson  River,  you  will  see  New 


no         David  Bushnell  and  his  American  Turtle. 

Jersey.  At  your  left,  across  the  East  River, 
Long  Island  begins,  with  the  beautiful  Gover- 
nor's Island  in  the  bay  just  before  you,  and,  look- 
ing to  the  southward,  in  the  distance,  you  will 
discern  Staten  Island. 

Let  us  go  back  to  that  day  and  hour. 

The  precise  date  of  the  Turtle's  voyage  down 
the  bay  is  not  given,  but  the  time  must  have  been 
on  the  night  ot  either  the  thirtieth  or  thirty-first 
of  August.  We  will  choose  the  thirtieth,  and 
imagine  ourselves  standing  in  the  crowd  by  the 
side  of  Generals  Washington  and  Putnam,  to  see 
the  machine  start. 

Remember,  now,  where  we  stand.  It  is  only 
last  night  that  our  army,  defeated,  dispirited, 
exhausted  by  battle,  lay  across  the  river  on 
Brooklyn  Heights.  Behind  it,  busy  with  pickaxe 
and  shovel,  the  victorious  troops  of  Mother 
England  were  making  ready  to  "  finish "  the 
Americans  on  the  morrow. 

There  were  supposed  to  be  twenty-four 
thousand  of  the  enemy,  only  nine  thousand 
Continentals;  and,  just  ready  to  enter  East  River 
and  cut  them  off  from  New  York,  lay  the  British 
fleet  to  the  north  of  Staten  Island. 

As  happened  at  Boston  in  March,  so  happened 
it  last  night  in  New  York,  a  friendly  fog  held  the 
heights  of  Brooklyn  in  its  grasp,  while  at  New 
York  all  was  clear. 

Under  cover  of  this  fog  General  Washington 
withdrew  across  the  river,  a  mile  or  more  in 


David  Bushnell  and  his  American  Turtle.         1 1 1 

width,  nine  thousand  men,  with  all  their  "  baggage, 
stores,  provisions,  horses,  and  munitions  of  war," 
and  not  a  man  of  the  enemy  knew  that  they  were 
gone  until  the  fog  lifted. 

Now,  as  we  stand,  Long  Island,  Governor's 
Island,  Staten  Island,  one  and  all  are  under  the 
control  of  Britons. 

David  Bushnell  is  in  a  whale-boat,  down  close 
to  the  Turtle,  giving  some  last  important  words 
of  direction  to  brave  Ezra  Lee,  who  has  stepped 
within  it.  David  Bushnell  could  not  help  wishing, 
as  he  did  so,  that  he  could  take  his  place  and 
guide  the  spirit  of  the  child  of  his  own  creation, 
in  its  first  great  encounter  with  the  world. 

The  word  is  given.  The  brass  top  of  the  Turtle 
is  shut  down.  Watchful  eyes  and  swift  rowers 
belonging  to  the  enemy  are  keeping  guard  on 
Governor's  Island,  by  which  Ezra  Lee  must  row, 
and  it  is  safer  to  go  under  water.  How  crowded 
this  little  pier  would  be,  did  the  inhabitants  but 
know  what  is  going  on  ! 

The  whale-boats  start  out,  David  Bushnell  in 
one  of  them.  They  mean  to  take  the  Turtle  in 
tow  the  minute  it  is  safe  to  do  so  and  save  Ezra 
Lee  the  labor  of  rowing  it  until  the  last  minute. 

It  is  eleven  o'clock.  All  silently  they  dip  the 
oars,  and  hear  the  sentinels  cry  from  camp  and 
shore. 

Past  the  island,  in  safety,  at  last.  They  look 
for  the  Turtle.  Up  it  comes,  a  distant  watch-light 
gleaming  across  its  brass  head  disclosing  its 


112         David  Bushnell  and  his  American  Turtle. 

presence.  Once  more  it  is  in  tow,  and  Lee  is  in 
the  whale-boat. 

Down  the  bay  they  go,  until  the  lights  from  the 
fleet  grow  dangerously  near. 

On  the  wide,  wind-stirred  waters  of  New  York 
Bay,  Ezra  Lee  gets  into  the  Turtle,  and  is  cast  off, 
and  left  alone,  for  the  whale-boats  return  to  New 
York. 

With  the  rudder  in  his  hand,  and  his  feet  upon 
the  oars,  he  pursues  his  way.  The  strong  ebb 
tide  flows  fast,  and,  before  he  is  aware  of  it,  it  has 
drifted  him  down  past  the  men-of-war. 

However,  he  immediately  gets  the  machine  about, 
and,  "  by  hard  labor  at  the  crank  for  the  space  of 
five  glasses  by  the  ships'  bells,  or  two  and  a  half 
hours,  he  arrives  under  the  stern  of  one  of  the 
ships  at  about  slack  water." 

E>ay  is  now  beginning  to  dawn.  He  can  see 
the  people  on  board,  and  hear  them  talk. 

The  moment  has  come  for  diving.  He  closes 
up  quickly  overhead,  lets  in  the  water,  and  goes 
down  under  the  ship's  bottom. 

He  now  applies  the  screw  and  does  all  in  his 
power  to  make  it  enter,  but  in  vain  ;  it  will  not 
pierce  the  ship's  copper.  Undaunted,  he  paddles 
along  to  a  different  part,  hoping  to  find  a  softer 
place ;  but,  in  doing  this,  in  his  hurry  and  excite- 
ment, he  manages  the  mechanism  so  that  the 
Turtle  instantly  arises  to  the  surface  on  the  east 
side  of  the  ship,  and  is  at  once  exposed  to  the 
piercing  light  of  day. 


David  Bushnell  and  his  American  Turtle.         113 

Again  he  goes  under,  hoping  that  he  has  not 
been  seen. 

This  time  his  courage  fails.  It  is  getting  to  be 
day.  If  the  ship's  boats  are  sent  after  him  his 
escape  will  be  very  difficult,  well-nigh  impossible, 
and,  if  he  saves  himself  at  all,  it  must  be  by  rowing 
more  than  four  miles. 

He  gives  up  the  enterprise  with  reluctance,  and 
starts  for  New  York. 

Governor's  Island  must  be  passed  by.  He 
draws  near  to  it,  as  near  as  he  can  venture,  and 
then  submerges  the  Turtle.  Alas  !  something 
has  befallen  the  compass.  It  will  not  guide  the 
rowing  under  the  sea. 

Every  few  minutes  he  is  compelled  to  rise  to 
the  surface  to  look  out  from  the  top  of  the 
machine  to  guide  his  course,  and  his  track  grows 
very  ziz-zag  through  the  waters. 

Ah  !  the  soldiers  at  Governor's  Island  see  the 
Turtle  !  Hundreds  are  gathering  upon  the 
parapet  to  watch  its  motions,  such  a  curious  boat 
as  it  is,  with  turret  of  brass  bobbing  up  and  down, 
sinking,  disappearing — coming  to  the  surface 
again  in  a  manner  wholly  unaccountable. 

Brave  Lee  knows  his  danger,  and  paddles  away 
for  dear  life  and  love  of  family  up  in  Lyme, 
eating  breakfast  quietly  now  he  remembers,  not 
knowing  his  peril. 

Once  more  he  goes  up  to  take  a  lookout,  to  see 
where  White-hall  slip  lies. 


ii4         David  Bushnell  and  his  American  Turtle. 

A  glance  at  Governor's  Island,  and  he  sees  a 
barge  shove  off  laden  with  his  enemies. 

Down  again,  and  up,  and  he  sees  it  making  for 
him.  There  is  no  escape  !  What  can  he  do  ! 

"  If  I  must  die,''  he  thinks,  "  they  shall  die  with 
me  !  "  and  he  lets  go  the  magazine. 

Nearer  and  nearer — the  barge  is  very  close. 
"  If  they  pick  me  up  they  will  pick  that  up," 
thinks  Lee,  "and  we  shall  all  be  blown  to  atoms 
together !  " 

They  are  now  within  a  hundred  and  fifty  feet 
of  the  Turtle  and  they  see  the  magazine  that  he 
has  detached. 

"  Some  horrible  Yankee  trick  !  "  cries  a  British 
soldier.  "Beware!"  And  they  do  beware  by 
turning  and  rowing  with  all  speed  for  the  island 
whence  they  came. 

Poor  Lee  looks  out  with  amazement  to  see  them 
go.  He  is  well-nigh  exhausted,  and  the  magazine, 
with  its  dreadful  clock-work  going  on  within  it,  and 
its  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  of  powder,  ready  to  go 
off  at  a  given  moment,  is  floating  on  behind  him, 
borne  by  the  tide. 

He  strains  every  muscle  to  near  New  York. 
He  signals  the  shore. 

Since  daylight  Putnam  has  been  there  keeping 
watch.  David  Bushnell  has  paced  up  and  down 
all  night,  in  keen  anxiety. 

The  friendly  whale-boats  put  out  to  meet  him. 

Meanwhile,  slowly  borne  by  the  coming  tide, 
the  magazine  floats  into  the  East  River. 


David  Bushnell  and  his  American  Turtle.         115 

"  It  will  blow  up  in  five  minutes  now,"  says 
Bushnell,  looking  at  his  watch,  and  he  goes  to 
welcome  Ezra  Lee. 

The  five  minutes  go  by. 

Suddenly,  with  tremendous  voice,  and  awful 
uproar  of  the  sea,  the  magazine  explodes. 

Columns  of  water  toss  high  in  air,  mingled 
with  the  oaken  ribs  that  held  the  powder  but  a 
minute  ago. 

Consternation  seizes  British  troops  on  Long 
Island.  The  brave  soldiers  on  the  parapet  at 
Governor's  Island  quake  with  fear.  All  New 
York  rushes  to  the  river-side  to  find  out  what  it 
can  mean.  Nothing,  on  all  the  face  of  the  earth, 
ever  happened  like  it  before,  one  and  all  declare. 

Opinion  varies  concerning  it,  from  bomb  to 
earthquake,  from  meteor  to  water-spout,  and 
settles  down  on  neither. 

Poor  Ezra  Lee  feels  that  he  meant  well,  but  did 
not  act  wisely.  David  Bushnell  praises  the 
sergeant,  and  takes  all  the  want  of  success  to  him- 
self, in  not  going  to  do  his  own  work. 

Meanwhile,  with  astonishment,  Generals  Wash- 
ington and  Putnam  and  David  Bushnell  himself 
behold,  as  did  the  Provincials,  after  the  battle  of 
Bunker-Breed's  Hill,  victory  in  defeat,  for  lo  !  no 
British  ship  sails  up  the  East  River,  or  appears 
to  bombard  New  York. 

Silently  they  weigh  anchor  and  drop  down  the 
bay.  The  little  American  Turtle  gained  a 
bloodless  victory  that  day. 


1 1 6         David  Bushnell  and  his  American  Turtle. 

NOTE. — The  writer  has  carefully  followed,  in  the  account  of  the  Turtle's 
attempt  upon  the  Eagle,  the  statement  of  Ezra  Lee,  made  to  Mr.  Charles 
Griswold  of  Lyme,  more  than  forty  years  after  the  occurrence,  and  by  him 
communicated  to  the  American  Journal  of  Science  and  Arts  in  1820.  For 
the  description  of  the  wonderful  mechanism  of  the  machine,  the  account 
given  at  the  time  by  Dr.  Gale  in  his  letters  to  Silas  Deane  has  been  chosen, 
as  probably  more  accurate  than  one  made  from  memory  after  forty  years 
had  passed. 


David  Bushnell  was  appointed  from  civil  life  Captain-Lieuten- 
ant of  a  Corps  of  Sappers  and  Miners — recommended  for  the 
position  by  Governor  Trumbull,  General  Parsons  and  others. 
June  8,  1781,  he  was  promoted  full  Captain.  He  was  present  at 
the  siege  of  Yorktown  and  commanded  the  Corps  in  1783. 

He  was  also  a  member  of  the  Society  of  the  Cincinnati. 


THE  BIRTHDAY  OF  OUR  NATION. 


ELLMAN  GREY  and  Blue-Eyed  Boy 
were  hurrying  up  Chestnut  street ; 
the  man  carried  a  large  key,  the  boy  a 
new  broom. 

It  was  a  very  warm  morning  in  a  very  warm 
month  of  a  very  warm  year;  in  fact  it  may  as 
well  be  stated  at  once  that  it  was  the  Fourth  day 
of  July,  1776,  and  that  Bellman  Grey  and  Blue- 
Eyed  Boy  were  in  haste  to  make  ready  the  State 
House  of  Pennsylvania  for  the  birth  of  the  United 
States  of  America.  No  wonder  they  were  in  a 
hurry. 

In  fact,  everybody  seemed  in  a  hurry  that  day  ; 
for  before  Bellman  Grey  had  whisked  that  new 
broom  over  the  floor  of  Congress  Hall,  in  walked, 
arm-in-arm,  Thomas  Jefferson  and  John  Adams. 

"  Good  morning,  gentlemen,"  said  Bellman 
Grey.  "You'll  find  the  dust  settled  in  the  com- 
mittee-room. I'm  cleaning  house  a  little  extra 
to-day  for  the  expected  visitor." 

"  For  the  coming  heir?  "  said  Mr.  Adams. 

"  When  Liberty  comes,  She  comes  to  stay," 
said  Mr.  Jefferson,  half-suffocated  with  the  dust ; 
and  the  two  retreated  to  the  committee-room. 

Blue-Eyed  Boy  was  polishing  with  his  silken 
duster  the  red  morocco  of  a  chair  as  the  gentle- 


1 1 8  The  Birthday  of  Our  Nation. 

men  opened  the  door.  He  heard  one  of  them 
say,  "  If  Cassar  Rodney  gets  here,  it  will  be 
done." 

"  If  it's  done,"  said  the  boy,  "  won't  you,  please, 
Mr.  Adams,  won't  you,  please,  Mr.  Jefferson,  let 
me  carry  the  news  to  General  Washington?" 

The  two  gentlemen  looked  either  at  the  other, 
and  both  at  the  lad,  in  smiling  wonder. 

"  If  what  is  done  ?"  asked  Mr.  Adams. 

"  If  the  thing  is  voted  and  signed  and  made 
sure,"  (just  here  Blue-Eyed  Boy  waved  his  dus- 
ter of  a  flag  and  stood  himself  as  erect  as  a  flag- 
pole ;)  "  if  the  tree's  transplanted,  if  the  ship  gets 
off  the  ways,  if  we  run  clear  away  from  King 
George,  sir ;  so  far  away  that  he'll  never  catch 
us." 

"  And  why  do  you,  my  lad,  wish  to  carry  the 
news  to  General  Washington  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Jeffer- 
son. 

"  Because,"  said  the  boy,  "  why — wouldn't  you  ?- 
It'll  be  jolly  work  for  the  soldiers  when  they 
know  they  can  fight  for  themselves." 

Just  here  Bellman  Grey  shouted  for  Blue-Eyed 
Boy,  bidding  him  come  quick  and  be  spry  with 
his  dusting,  too. 

Before  the  hall  was  cleared  of  the  accumulated 
dust  of  State-rooms  above  and  Congress-rooms 
below,  in  came  members  of  the  Congress,  one-by- 
one  and  two-by-two,  and  in  groups.  The  doors 
were  locked,  and  the  solemn  deliberations  began. 
Within  that  room,  now  known  as  Independence 


The  Birthday  of  Our  Nation.  119 

Hall,  sat,  in  solemn  conclave,  half  a  hundred  men, 
each  and  every  one  of  whom  knew  full  well  that 
the  deed  about  to  be  done  would  endanger  his 
own  life. 

On  a  table  lay  a  paper,  awaiting  signatures.  A 
silver  ink-stand  held  the  ink  that  trembled  and 
wavered  to  the  sound  and  stir  of  John  Adams's 
voice,  as  he  stated  once  more  the  why  and  the 
wherefore  of  the  step  America  was  about  to  take. 

This  final  statement  was  made  for  the  especial 
enlightenment  of  three  gentlemen,  new  members 
of  the  Congress  from  New  Jersey,  and  in  reply  to 
the  reasons  given  by  Mr.  Dickinson  why  the 
Declaration  of  Independence  should  not  be  made. 

In  the  meantime  Bellman  Grey  was  up  in  the 
steeple,  "seeing  what  he  could  see,"  and  Blue- 
Eyed  Boy  was  answering  knocks  at  the  entrance 
doors ;  then  running  up  the  stairs  to  tell  the 
scraps  of  news  that  he  had  gleaned  through  open 
door,  or  crack,  or  key-hole. 

The  day  wore  on  ;  outside  a  great  and  greater 
crowd  surged  every  moment  against  the  walls ; 
but  the  walls  of  the  State  House  were  thick,  and 
the  crowd  was  hushed  to  silence,  with  intense 
longing  to  hear  what  was  going  on  inside. 

From  his  high-up  place  in  the  belfry,  where  he 
had  been  on  watch,  Bellman  Grey  espied  a  figure 
on  horseback,  hurrying  toward  the  scene  ;  the 
horse  was  white  with  heat  and  hurry  ;  the  rider's 
"face  was  no  bigger  than  an  apple,"  but  it  was  a 
face  of  importance  that  day. 


120  The  Birthday  of  Our  Nation. 

"  Run  !  "  shouted  Bellman  Grey  from  the  bel- 
fry. "  Run  and  tell  them  that  Mr.  Rodney 
comes." 

The  boy  descended  the  staircase  with  a  bound 
and  a  leap  and  a  thump  against  the  door,  and 
announced  Caesar  Rodney's  approach. 

In  he  came,  weary  with  his  eighty  miles  in  the 
saddle,  through  heat  and  hunger  and  dust,  for 
Delaware  had  sent  her  son  in  haste  to  the  scene. 

The  door  closed  behind  him  and  all  was  as  still 
and  solemn  as  before. 

Up  in  the  belfry  the  old  man  stroked  fondly  the 
tongue  of  the  bell,  and  softly  said  under  his  breath 
again  and  again  as  the  hours  went :  "  They  will 
never  do  it ;  they  will  never  do  it." 

The  boy  sat  on  the  lowest  step  of  the  staircase, 
alternately  peeping  through  the  key-hole  with 
eye  to  see  and  with  ear  to  hear.  At  last,  came  a 
stir  within  the  room.  He  peeped  again.  He  saw 
Mr.  Hancock,  with  white  and  solemn  face,  bend 
over  the  paper  on  the  table,  stretch  forth  his 
hand,  and  dip  the  pen  in  the  ink.  He  watched 
that  hand  and  arm  curve  the  pen  to  and  fro  over 
the  paper,  and  then  he  was  away  up  the  stairs 
like  a  cat. 

Breathless  with  haste,  he  cried  up  the  belfry  : 
"He's  a  doing  it,  he  is  !  I  saw  him  through  the 
key-hole.  Mr.  Hancock  has  put  his  name  to  that 
big  paper  on  the  table." 

"  Go  back !  go  back  !  you  young  fool,  and  keep 
watch,  and  tell  me  quick  when  to  ring  !  "  cried 


The  Birthday  of  Our  Nation.  121 

down  the  voice  of  Bellman  Grey,  as  he  wiped  for 
the  hundredth  time  the  damp  heat  from  his  fore- 
head and  the  dust  from  the  iron  tongue  beside 
him. 

Blue-Eyed  Boy  went  back  and  peeped  again 
just  in  time  to  see  Mr.  Samuel  Adams  in  the 
chair,  pen  in  hand. 

One  by  one,  in  "solemn  silence  all,"  the  mem- 
bers wrote  their  names,  each  one  knowing  full 
well,  that  unless  the  Colonists  could  fight  longer 
and  stronger  than  Great  Britain,  that  signature 
would  prove  his  own  death-warrant. 

It  was  fitting  that  the  men  who  wrote  their 
names  that  day  should  write  with  solemn  delib- 
eration. 

Blue-Eyed  Boy  peeped  again.  "  I  hope  they're 
almost  done,"  he  sighed;  "and  I  reckon  they 
are,  for  Mr.  Rodney  has  the  pen  now.  My  !  how 
tired  and  hot  his  face  looks !  I  don't  believe  he 
has  had  any  more  dinner  to-day  than  I  have,  and 
I  feel  most  awful  empty.  It's  almost  night  by 
this  time,  too." 

At  length  the  long  list  was  complete.  Every 
man  then  present  had  signed  the  Declaration  of 
Independence,  except  Mr.  Dickinson  of  Pennsyl- 
vania. 

And  now  came  the  moment  wherein  the  news 
should  begin  its  journey  around  the  world.  The 
Speaker,  Mr.  Thompson,  arose  and  made  the 
announcement  to  the  very  men  who  already 
knew  it. 


122  The  Birthday  of  Our  Nation. 

Blue-Eyed  Boy  peeped  with  his  ear  and  heard 
the  words  through  the  key-hole. 

With  a  shout  and  a  cry  of  "  Ring  !  ring  !  "  and 
a  clapping  of  hands,  he  rushed  upward  to  the 
belfry.  The  words,  springing  from  his  lips  like 
arrows,  sped  their  way  into  the  ears  and  hands  of 
Bellman  Grey.  Grasping  the  iron  tongue  of  the 
old  bell,  backward  and  forward  he  hurled  it  a 
hundred  times,  its  loud  voice  proclaiming  to  all 
the  people  that  down  in  Independence  Hall  a 
new  nation  was  born  to  the  earth  that  day. 

When  the  members  heard  its  tones  swinging 
out  the  joyous  notes  they  marvelled,  because  no 
one  had  authorized  the  announcement.  When 
the  key  was  turned  from  within,  and  the  door 
opened,  there  stood  the  mystery  facing  them,  in 
the  person  of  Blue-Eyed  Boy. 

"I  told  him  to  ring;  I  heard  the  news!"  he 
shouted,  and  opened  the  State  House  doors  to  let 
the  Congress  out  and  all  the  world  in. 

You  know  the  rest ;  the  acclamation  of  the 
multitude,  the  common  peals  (they  forgot  to  be 
careful  of  powder  that  night  in  the  staid  old  city), 
the  big  bonfires,  and  the  illuminations  that  rang 
and  roared  and  boomed  and  burned  from  Dela- 
ware to  Schuylkill. 

In  the  waning  light  of  the  latest  bonfire,  up 
from  the  city  of  Penn,  rode  our  Blue-Eyed  Boy — 
true  to  his  purpose  to  be  the  first  to  carry  the 
glad  news  to  General  Washington. 

"  It  will  be  like  meeting  an   old   friend,"    he 


The  Birthday  of  Our  Nation.  123 

thought ;  for  had  he  not  seen  the  commander-in- 
chief  every  day  going  in  and  out  of  the  Congress 
Hall  during  his  visit  to  Philadelphia  only  a  month 
ago? 

The  self-appointed  courier  never  deemed  other 
evidence  of  the  truth  of  his  news  needful  than 
his  own  "word  of  mouth."  He  rode  a  strong 
young  horse,  which,  early  in  the  year,  had  been 
left  in  his  care  by  a  southern  officer  when  on  his 
way  to  the  camp  at  Cambridge  ;  and  that  no  one 
might  worry  about  him,  he  had  taken  the  precau- 
tion to  intrust  his  secret  to  a  neighbor  lad  to  tell 
at  the  home-door  in  the  light  of  early  day. 

The  journey  was  long,  too  long  to  write  of  here. 
Suffice  it  to  say,  that  on  Sunday  morning  Blue- 
Eyed  Boy  reached  the  ferry  at  the  Hudson  river. 
The  old  ferryman  hesitated  to  cross  with  the 
lad. 

"  Wait  at  my  house  until  the  cool  of  the  even- 
ing," he  urged. 

But  Blue-Eyed  Boy  said,  "  No,  I  must  cross 
this  morning,  and  my  pony  :  I'll  pay  for  two  if 
you'll  take  me." 

The  ferryman  crossed  the  river  with  the  boy, 
who,  on  the  other  side,  inquired  his  way  to  the 
headquarters  of  the  general. 

Warm,  tired,  hungry,  and  dusty,  he  urged  his 
pony  forward  to  the  place,  only  to  find  that  he 
whom  he  sought  had  gone  to  divine  service  at 
St.  Paul's  church. 

Blue-Eyed   Boy   rode   to   St.    Paul's.      In   the 


1 24  Ttu  Birthday  of  Our  Nation. 

Fields  (now  City  Hall  Park)  he  tied  his  faithful 
horse,  and  went  his  way  to  the  church. 

Gently  and  with  reverent  mien,  he  entered  the 
open  door,  and  listened  to  the  closing  words  of 
the  sermon.  At  length  the  service  was  over  and 
the  congregation  turned  toward  the  entrance 
where  stood  the  young  traveler,  his  heart  beat- 
ing with  exultant  pride  at  the  glorious  news  he 
had  to  tell  to  the  glorious  commander. 

How  grand  the  General  looked  to  the  boy,  as, 
with  stately  step,  he  trod  slowly  the  church  aisle 
accompanied  by  his  officers. 

Now  he  was  come  to  the  vestibule.  It  was 
Blue-Eyed  Boy's  chance  at  last.  The  great, 
dancing,  gleeful  eyes,  that  have  outlived  in  fame 
the  very  name  of  the  lad,  were  fixed  on  Wash- 
ington, as  he  stepped  forward  to  accost  him. 

"  Out  of  the  way!"  exclaimed  a  guard,  and 
thrust  him  aside. 

"  I  will  speak  !  General  Washington ! "  screamed 
Blue-Eyed  Boy,  in  sudden  excitement.  The  idea 
of  anybody  who  had  seen,  even  through  a  key- 
hole, the  signing  of  the  Declaration  of  Independ- 
ence, being  thrust  aside  thus! 

General  Washington  stayed  his  steps  and 
ordered,  "  Let  the  lad  come  to  me." 

"  I've  good  news  for  you,"  said  the  youth. 

"What  news?" 

Officers  stood  around — even  the  congregation 
paused,  having  heard  the  cry. 

"  It's  for  you  alone,  General  Washington." 


The  Birthday  of  Our  Nation.  125 

The  lad's  eyes  were  ablaze  now.  All  the  light 
of  Philadelphia's  late  illuminations  burned  in 
them.  General  Washington  bade  the  youth  fol- 
low him. 

"But  my  pony  is  tied  yonder,"  said  he,  "and 
he's  hungry  and  tired  too.  I  can't  leave  him." 

"Come  hither,  then,"  and  the  Commander-in- 
chief  withdrew  with  the  lad  within  the  sacred 
edifice. 

"  General  Washington,"  said  Blue-Eyed  Boy, 
"  on  Thursday  Congress  declared  us  free  and 
independent." 

"Where  are  your  dispatches?"  leaped  from 
the  General's  lips,  his  face  shining. 

"  Why — why,  I  haven't  any,  but  it's  all  true, 
sir,"  faltered  the  boy. 

"  How  did  you  find  it  out?" 

"  I  was  right  there,  sir.  Don't  you  remember 
me  ?  I  help  Bellman  Grey  take  care  of  the  State 
House  at  Philadelphia,  and  I  run  on  errands  for 
the  Congress  folks,  too,  sometimes." 

"  Did  Congress  send  you  on  this  errand?" 

"  No,  General  Washington  ;  I  can't  tell  a  lie,  I 
came  myself." 

"  How  did  you  know  me?  " 

Blue-Eyed  Boy  was  ready  to  cry  now.  To  be 
sure  he  was  sturdy  and  strong,  and  nearly  four- 
teen, too ;  but  to  be  doubted,  after  all  his  long, 
tiresome  journey,  was  hard.  However,  he  winked 
once  or  twice  violently,  and  then  he  looked  his 
very  soul  into  the  General's  face,  and  said  :  "Why, 


126  The  Birthday  of  Our  Nation. 

I  saw  you  every  day  you  went  to  Congress,  only 
a  month  ago,  I  did." 

"  I  believe  you,  my  lad.  Get  your  horse  and 
follow  me." 

Bue-Eyed  Boy  followed  on,  and  waited  in  camp 
until  the  tardy  despatches  came  in  on  Tuesday 
morning,  confirming  every  word  that  he  had 
spoken. 

The  same  evening  all  the  brigades  in  and 
around  New  York  were  ordered  to  their  respec- 
tive parade-grounds. 

Blue-Eyed  Boy  was  admitted  within  the  hol- 
low square  formed  by  the  brigades  on  the  spot 
where  stands  the  City  Hall.  Within  the  same 
square  was  General  Washington,  sitting  on  horse- 
back, and  the  great  Declaration  was  read  by  one 
of  his  aids. 

It  is  needless  to  tell  how  it  was  received  by  the 
eager  men  who  listened  to  the  mighty  truths 
with  reverent,  uncovered  heads.  Henceforth 
every  man  felt  that  he  had  a  banner  under  which 
to  fight,  as  broad  as  the  sky  above  him,  as  shelter- 
ing as  the  homely  roof  of  home. 


THE  OVERTHROW  OF  THE  STATUE 
OF  KING  GEORGE. 


F,  on  the  evening  of  July  9,  1876,  at  six 
of  the  clock,  you  go  and  stand  where 
the  shadow  of  the  steeple  of  St.  Paul's 
church  in  New  York  is  falling,  you 
will  occupy  the  space  General  Washington  occu- 
pied, just  one  hundred  years  ago,  when  with  un- 
covered head  and  reverent  mien,  he,  in  the  pres- 
ence of  and  surrounded  by  a  brigade  of  noble 
soldiers,  listened  to  the  reading  of  the  Declara- 
tion of  Independence. 

You  will  remember  that  at  the  church  door  on 
Sunday,  Blue-Eyed  Boy  brought  to  him,  by  word 
of  mouth,  the  great  news  that  a  nation  was  born 
on  Thursday. 

This  news  was  now,  for  the  first  time,  an- 
nounced to  the  men  of  New  York  and  New 
England. 

No  wonder  that  their  military  caps  came  off  on 
Tuesday,  that  their  arms  swung  in  the  air,  and 
their  voices  burst  forth  into  one  loud  acclaim 
that  might  have  been  heard  by  the  British  foe 
then  landing  on  Staten  Island. 

As  you  stand  there,  and  the  shadow  of  old  St. 
Paul  swings  around  and  covers  you,  shut  your 


128      The  Overthrow  of  the  Statue  of  King  George. 

eyes  and  listen.  Something  of  the  olden  music, 
of  the  loud  acclaim,  may  swing  around  with  the 
shadow  and  fall  on  your  ears,  since  no  motion  is 
ever  spent,  no  sound  ever  still.  » 

On  that  night,  when  the  grand  burst  of  enthusi- 
asm had  arisen,  Blue-Eyed  Boy  said  to  General 
Washington :  "  I  am  afraid,  sir,  if  Congress  had 
known,  they  never  would  have  done  it,  never  ! 
It  seemed  easy  to  do  it  in  Philadelphia,  where 
everything  is  just  as  it  used  to  be  ;  but  here,  with 
all  the  British  ships  riding  in,  full  of  soldiers,  and 
guns  enough  in  them  to  smash  the  old  State 
House  where  they  did  it!  If  they'd  only  known 
about  the  ships  ! — " 

Ah !  Blue- Eyed  Boy.  You  didn't  keep  your 
eye  very  close  to  Congress  Hall  in  the  morning 
of  last  Thursday,  or  you  would  have  heard  Mr. 
Hancock  or  Mr.  Thompson  read  to  Congress  a 
letter  from  General  Washington,  announcing  the 
arrival  of  General  Howe  at  Sandy  Hook  with 
one  hundred  and  ten  ships  of  war. 

No,  no !  Blue- Eyed  Boy  and  every  other  boy  ; 
the  men  who  dared  to  say,  and  sign  their  names 
to  the  assertion,  "A  nation  is  born  to-day,"  did 
not  do  it  under  the  rosy  flush  of  glorious  victory, 
but  in  the  fast-coming  shadow  of  mighty  Britain, 
strong  in  all  the  power  and  radiant  with  all  the 
pomp  of  war. 

And  what  had  a  few  little  colonies  to  meet 
them  with?  They  had,  it  is  true,  a  new  name, 
that  of  "States";  but  cannon  and  camp-kettles 


The  Overthrow  of  the  Statue  of  King  George.     129 

alike  were  wanting  ;  the  small  powder  mills  in 
the  Connecticut  hive  could  yield  them  only  a 
fragment  of  the  black  honey  General  Washing- 
ton cried  for,  day  and  night,  from  Cambridge  to 
New  York  ;  the  houses  of  the  inhabitants,  dili- 
gently searched  for  fragments  of  lead,  gave  them 
not  enough;  and  you  know  how  every  home- 
stead in  New  England  was  besieged  for  the  last 
yard  of  homespun  cloth,  that  the  country's  sol- 
diers might  not  go  coatless  by  day  and  tentless 
at  night. 

Brave  men  and  women  good  ! 

Let  us  hurrah  for  them  all,  if  it  is  a  hundred 
years  too  late  for  them  to  hear.  The  men  of  a 
hundred  years  to  come  will  remember  our  huzzas 
of  this  year,  and  grow,  it  may  be,  the  braver  and 
the  better  for  them  all. 

But  now  General  Washington  has  ridden  away 
to  his  home  at  Number  One  in  the  Broadway; 
the  brigade  has  moved  on,  and  even  Blue-Eyed 
Boy  is  hastening  after  General  Washington,  in- 
tent on  taking  a  fare  well  glance,  from  the  rampart 
of  Fort  George,  at  the  far-away  English  ships. 

To-morrow  he  will  begin  his  homeward  journey 
through  the  Jerseys.  His  pass  is  in  his  pocket, 
and  as  he  quickens  his  steps,  he  sees  groups 
gathering  here  and  there,  and  knows  that  some 
excitement  is  astir  in  the  public  mind,  but  thinks 
it  is  all  about  the  great  Declaration. 

He  reaches  Wall  street,  and  the  sun  is  at  its 
going  down.  Up  from  the  East  river  come  the 


1 30      The  Overthrow  of  the  Statue  of  King  George. 

sounds  of  orderly  drummers  drumming,  of  regi- 
mental fifers  fifing.  He  stays  his  steps,  and 
stands  listening:  he  sees  a  brigade  marching  the 
"grand  parade''  at  sunset. 

Up  it  comes  from  Wall  street  to  Smith  street ; 
(I  am  sure  I  do  not  know  what  Smith  street  is 
lost  into  now,  but  the  orderly-book  of  Major 
Phineas  Porter  of  Waterbury,  one  hundred  years 
old  to-morrow  morning,  has  it  "  Smith  street"); 
from  the  upper  end  of  Smith  street  back  to  Wall 
street,  and  the  young  Philadelphian  follows  it, 
marching  to  sound  of  fife  and  drum. 

As  it  turns  towards  the  East  river,  he  remem- 
bers whither  he  was  bound  and  starts  off  with 
speed  for  the  Grand  Battery. 

As  he  goes,  glancing  backward,  he  sees  that  all 
the  town  is  at  his  heels. 

He  begins  to  run.  All  the  town  begins  to  run. 
He  runs  faster:  the  crowd  runs  faster.  It  is 
shouting  now.  He  tries  to  listen;  but  his  feet  are 
flying,  his  head  is  bobbing,  his  hat  is  falling,  and 
this  is  what  he  thinks  he  hears  in  the  midst  of 
all:  "Down  with  him  !  Down  with  the  Tory!" 
It  is  "tyrant"  that  they  cry,  but  he  hears  it  as 
"tory,"  and  he  knows  full  well  how  Governor 
Franklin  of  New  Jersey  and  Mayor  Matthews  of 
New  York  have  just  been  sent  off  to  Connecticut 
for  safer  keeping,  and  he  does  not  care  to  go  into 
New  England  just  now,  so  he  flies  faster  than 
ever,  fully  believing  that  the  crowd  pursues  him, 
as  a  Royalist. 


The  Overthrow  of  the  Statue  of  King  George.     131 

Just  before  him  opens  the  Bowling  Green. 
Into  it  he  darts,  hoping  to  find  covert,  but  there 
is  none  at  hand. 

Right  in  the  midst  of  the  enclosure  stands  an 
equestrian  statue  of  King  George  the  Third. 

It  is  high;  it  looks  safe.  Blue- Eyed  Boy  makes 
for  it,  utterly  ignorant  of  what  it  is. 

The  crowd  surges  on.  It  is  now  at  the  gate. 
The  young  martyr  makes  a  spring  at  the  leg  and 
tail  of  the  horse ;  he  swings  himself  aloft,  he 
catches  and  clutches  and  climbs,  and  in  the  midst 
of  ringing  shouts  of  "  Down  with  him  !  Down 
with  horse  and  king!"  Blue- Eyed  Boy  gets  over 
King  George  and  clings  to  the  up-reared  neck  of 
the  leaden  horse ;  thence  he  turns  his  wild-eyed 
face  to  the  throng  below.  "  Down  with  him  !  He 
don't  hear!  He  won't  hear  !"  cry  the  populace. 

"I  do  hear!"  in  wild  afright,  shrieks  Blue- 
Eyed  Boy,  and  I'm  not  a  Tory." 

Shut  your  eyes  again,  and  see  the  picture  as  it 
stands  there  in  the  waning  light  of  the  ninth  of 
July,  1776. 

Four  years  ago,  over  the  ocean,  borne  by  loyal 
subjects  to  a  loyal  colony,  it  came,  this  statue, 
that  you  shall  see.  It  is  a  noble  horse,  though 
made  of  lead,  that  stands  there,  poised  on  its 
hinder  legs,  its  neck  in  air.  King  George  sits 
erect,  the  crown  of  Great  Britain  on  his  head,  a 
sword  in  his  left  hand,  his  right  grasping  the 
bridle-lines,  and  over  all,  a  sheen  of  gold,  for 
horse  and  king  were  gilded. 


132      The  Overthrow  of  the  Statue  of  King  George. 

King  George  faces  the  bay,  and  looks  vainly 
down.  All  his  brave  ships  and  eight  thousand 
Red  Coats,  yesterday  landed  on  yonder  island, 
cannot  save  him  now.  Had  he  listened  to  the 
petitions  of  his  children  it  might  have  been,  but 
he  would  not  hear  their  just  plaints,  and  now  his 
statue,  standing  so  firm  against  storm,  wind  and 
time,  trembles  before  the  sea  of  wrath  surging  at 
its  base. 

"  Come  down,  come  down,  you  young  rascal !  " 
cries  a  strong  voice  to  Blue-Eyed  Boy,  but  his 
hands  grasped  at  either  ear  of  the  horse,  and  he 
clings  with  all  his  strength  to  resist  the  pull  of  a 
dozen  hands  at  his  feet. 

"  Come  down,  you  rogue,  or  we'll  topple  you 
over  with  his  majesty,  King  George,"  greets  the 
lad's  ears,  and  opens  them  to  his  situation. 

"  King  George  ! "  cried  Blue-Eyed  Boy  with  a 
sudden  sense  of  his  ridiculous  fear  and  panic,  and 
he  yields  to  the  stronger  influence  exerted  on  his 
right  leg,  and  so  comes  to  earth  with  emotions  of 
relief  and  mortification  curiously  mingled  in  his 
young  mind. 

To  think  that  he  had  had  the  vanity  to  imagine 
the  crowd  pursued  him,  and  so  has  flown  from 
his  own  friends  to  the  statue  of  King  George  for 
safety  ! 

"I  won't  tell,''  thinks  the  lad,  "a  word  about 
this  to  anyone  at  home,"  and  then  he  falls  to 
pushing  the  men  who  are  pushing  the  statue, 
and  over  it  topples,  horse  and  rider,  down  upon 


The  Overthrow  of  the  Statue  of  King  George.     133 

the  sod  of  the  little  United  States,  just  five  days 
old. 

How  they  hew  it !  How  they  hack  it!  How 
they  saw  at  it  with  saw  and  penknife  !  Blue-Eyed 
Boy  himself  cuts  off  the  king's  ear,  that  will  not 
hear  the  petitions  of  people  or  Congress,  proudly 
pockets  it,  and  walks  off,  thankful  because  he  car- 
ries his  own  on  his  head. 

Would  you  like  to  know  what  General  Wash- 
ington thought  about  the  overthrow  of  the  statue 
in  Bowling  Green? 

We  will  turn  to  Phineas  Porter's  orderly-book, 
and  copy  from  the  general  orders  for  July  10, 
1776,  what  he  said  to  the  soldiers  about  it : 

"The  General  doubts  not  the  persons  who 
pulled  down  and  mutilated  the  statue  in  the 
Broad-way  last  night  were  actuated  by  zeal  in 
the  public  cause,  yet  it  has  so  much  the  appear- 
ance of  riot  and  want  of  order  in  the  army,  that 
he  disapproves  the  manner  and  directs  that  in 
future  such  things  shall  be  avoided  by  the  sol- 
diers, and  be  left  to  be  executed  by  proper 
authority." 

The  same  morning,  the  heavy  ear  of  the  king 
in  his  pocket,  Blue-Eyed  Boy,  once  more  on  his 
pony,  sets  off  to  cross  the  ferry  on  his  way 
to  Philadelphia.  We  leave  him  caught  in  the 
mazes  of  the  Flying  Camp  gathering  at  Amboy; 
whither  by  day  and  by  night  have  been  ferried 
over  from  Staten  Island,  all  the  flocks  of  sheep 
and  herds  of  cattle  that  could  be  gotten  away — 


134      The  Overthrow  of  the  Statue  of  King  George. 

lest  the  hungry  men  in  red  coats,  coming  up  the 
bay,  seize  upon  and  destroy  them. 

Ah  !  what  days,  what  days  and  nights  too  were 
those  for  the  young  United  States  to  pass 
through  ! 

To-day,  we  echo  what  somebody  wrote  some- 
where, even  then,  amid  all  the  darkness — words 
we  would  gladly  see  on  our  banner's  top-most 
fold: 

"  The  United  States  !  Bounded  by  the  ocean 
and  backed  by  the  forest.  Whom  hath  she  to 
fear  but  her  God  ?" 


SLEET  AND  SNOW. 


OURTH  OF  JULY,  1776.— Troublous 
times,  that  day  ?  Valentine  Kull  thought 
so,  as  he  stood  in  a  barn-yard,  with  a 
portion  of  his  mother's  clothes  line  tied 
as  tightly  as  he  dared  to  tie  it  around  the  neck  of  a 
calf.  He  was  waiting  for  the  bars  to  be  let  down 
by  his  sister.  Anna  Kull  thought  the  times  deci- 
dedly troublous,  as  she  pulled  and  pushed  and 
lifted  to  get  the  bars  down. 

"  I  can't  do  it,  Valentine,"  she  cried,  her  half- 
child  face  thrust  between  the  rails. 

"Try  again! " 

She  tried.     Result  as  before. 

"  Come  over,  then,  and  hold  Snow." 

Anna  went  over,  rending  gown  and  apron  on 
the  roughnesses  of  rails  and  haste.  Never  mind. 
She  was  over,  and  could,  she  thought,  hold  the 
calf. 

Barn-yard,  cow  (I  forgot  to  mention  that  there 
was  a  cow);  calf,  and  children,  one  and  all,  were 
on  Staten  Island  in  the  Bay  and  Province  of  New 
York.  Beside  these,  there  was  a  house.  It  was 
so  small,  so  queer,  so  old-fashioned,  so  Amster- 
dam Dutchy,  that,  for  all  that  I  know  to  the  con- 
trary, Achter  Kull  may  have  built  it  as  a  play- 
house for  his  children  when  first  he  came  to 


136  Sleet  and  Snow. 

America  and  took  up  his  abode  by  the  Kill  van 
Kull.  The  Kill  van  Kull  is  that  curious  little 
slice  of  sea  pi'nched  in  by  a  finger  of  New  Jersey 
thrust  hard  against  Staten  Island,  as  though  try- 
ing its  best  to  push  the  island  off  to  sea.  How- 
ever it  may  have  been,  there  was  the  house,  and 
from  the  very  roof  of  it  arose  a  head,  neck,  two 
shoulders  and  one  arm ;  the  same  being  the 
property  of  the  mother  of  Valentine  and  Anna. 
The  said  mother  was  keeping  watch  from  the 
scuttle. 

"Be  quick,  my  children,"  she  cried.  "The 
Continentals  are  now  driving  off  Abraham  Ryker's 
cattle  and  the  boat  isn't  full  yet.  They'll  be  here 
next." 

Anna  seized  the  clothes  line ;  Valentine  made 
for  the  bars.  Down  they  came,  the  one  after  the 
other,  and  out  over  the  lower  one  went  calf,  Anna 
and  cow.  Valentine  made  a  dive  for  Snow's  lead- 
ing string.  He  missed  it.  Away  went  the  calf, 
poor  Anna  clutching  at  the  rope,  into  green  lane, 
through  tall  grass,  tangle  and  thicket.  She  caught 
her  foot  in  her  torn  gown  and  was  falling,  when  a 
sudden  holding  up  of  the  rope  assisted  by  Valen- 
tine's clutch  at  her  arm  set  her  on  her  feet  again. 
During  this  slight  respite  from  the  chase,  the  cow 
(Sleet,  by  name,  because  not  quite  so  white  as 
Snow)  took  a  bite  of  grass  and  wondered  what 
all  this  unaccustomed  fuss  did  mean. 

"  Snow  has  pulled  my  arm  out  of  joint,"  said 
Anna,  holding  fast  to  her  shoulder. 


Sleet  and  Snow.  137 

"  Never  mind  your  arm,  now"  returned  Valen- 
tine. "  We  must  get  to  the  marsh.  It's  the  only 
place.  You  get  a  switch,  and  if  Sleet  won't  fol- 
low Snow  in,  you  drive  her.  I  wish  the  critters 
wasn't  white  ;  they  show  up  so  ;  but  Washington 
sha'n't  have  this  calf  and  cow,  anyhow" 

From  Newark  Bay  to  Old  Blazing  Star  Ferry 
stretched  the  marsh,  deep,  dense,  well-nigh  im- 
passable. Under  the  orders  of  General  Washing- 
ton, supported  by  the  approval  of  the  Provincial 
Congress  in  session  at  White  Plains,  the  live  stock 
was  being  driven  from  the  island,  and  ferried 
across  Staten  Island  Sound  to  New  Jersey.  At 
the  same  moment  the  grand  fleet  of  armed  ships 
from  Halifax,  England,  and  elsewhere,  was  sailing 
in  with  General  Howe  on  board  and  Red  Coats 
enough  to  eat,  at  a  supper  and  a  dinner,  all  the 
live  stock  on  a  five-by-seventeen  mile  island. 

Now  the  Commander-in-chief  of  the  Continental 
forces  at  New  York  did  not  wish  to  afford  the  aid 
and  comfort  to  the  enemy  of  furnishing  horses  to 
draw  cannon,  or  fresh  meat  wherewith  to  satisfy 
the  hunger  of  British  soldier  and  sailor.  Oh  no  ! 
On  Manhattan  Island  were  braves — for  freedom 
toiling  day  and  night;  building  earthwork,  re- 
doubt and  battery  with  never  a  luxury  from 
morning  to  morning,  except  the  luxury  of  fighting 
for  Liberty.  Soldiers  from  camp,  light-horse  and 
militia  from  New  Jersey,  had  gathered  on  the 
island,  and  had  been  at  work  a  day  and  a  night 
when  the  news  came  to  the  Kull  cottage  that  in  a 


138  Sleet  and  Snow. 

few  minutes  its  cow  and  calf  would  be  called  for. 
Hence  the  sudden  watch  from  the  roof,  and  the 
escapade  from  the  barn-yard. 

The  Kull  father,  I  regret  to  write,  because  it 
seems  highly  unpatriotic,  had  gone  forth  to  catch 
fish  that  day,  hugging  up  the  thought  close  to  his 
pocket  of  a  heart,  that  the  English  fleet  would 
pay  well  for  fresh  fish. 

Now  Sleet  and  Snow  were  treasures  untold  to 
Valentine  and  Anna  Kull.  Anna's  pocket-money, 
stored  up  to  be  spent  once-a-year  in  New  York, 
came  to  her  hands  by  the  sale  of  butter  to  oyster- 
men;  and  the  calf,  Snow,  was  the  exclusive 
property  of  her  brother  Valentine.  No  wonder 
they  were  striving  to  save  their  possessions — 
ignorant,  children  as  they  were,  of  every  good 
which  they  could  not  see  and  feel. 

Cow  and  calf,  or  rather  calf  and  cow,  never 
before  were  given  such  a  race.  Highways  were 
ignored.  There  were  not  many  beaten  tracks  at 
that  time  on  Staten  Island.  Daisied  and  clovered 
fields  the  calf  was  dragged  through  ;  young  corn 
and  potato  lots  suffered  alike  by  the  pressure  of 
hoof  and  foot.  Anna  nearly  forgot  her  out-of- 
joint  arm  when  the  four  reached  the  marsh.  Its 
friendly-looking  shelter  was  hailed  with  delight. 

Said  Valentine,  tugging  the  tired  calf,  to  Anna, 
switching  forward  the  anxious  cow :  "  I  should 
like  to  see  the  riflemen  from  Pennsylvania  and 
the  Yankeys  from  Doodle  or  Dandy  either,  chase 
Sleet  and  Snow  through  this  marsh." 


Sleet  and  Snow.  139 

"  It's  been  awful  work  though  to  get  'em  here," 
said  Anna,  wiping  her  face  with  a  pink  handker- 
chief suddenly  detached  for  use  from  her  gown. 

In  plunged  the  boy  and  up  s-s-cissed  a  cloud  of 
mosquitoes,  humming  at  the  sound  of  the  new- 
come  feast ;  fresh  flesh  and  blood  from  the  up- 
lands was  desirable. 

The  grass  was  green,  very  green — lovely,  bright, 
light  green  ;  the  July  sun  shone  down  untiringly  ; 
the  tide  rushing  up  from  Raritan  Bay  met  the' 
tide  rolling  over  from  Newark  Bay,  and  the  cool, 
sweet  swash  of  water  snaked  along  the  stout 
sedge,  making  it  sway  and  bend  as  though  the 
wind  were  sweeping  its  tops. 

When  within  the  queer  infolding,  boy,  cow,  and 
calf  had  disappeared,  Anna  called  :  "  I'll  run  now 
and  keep  watch  and  tell  you  when  the  soldiers 
are  gone." 

"No,  you  won't!"  shrieked  back  her  brother; 
"  you'll  stay  here,  and  help  me,  or  the  skeeters 
will  kill  the  critters.  Bring  me  the  biggest  bush 
you  can  find,  and  fetch  one  for  yourself." 

Anna  always  obeyed  Valentine.  It  was  a  way 
she  had.  He  liked  it,  and,  generally  speaking, 
she  didn't  greatly  dislike  it,  but  her  dress  was 
thinner  than  his  coat,  and  the  happy  mosquitoes 
knew  she  was  fairer  and  sweeter  than  her  Dutch 
brother,  and  didn't  mind  telling  her  so  in  the 
most  insinuating  fashion  possible.  On,  this  occa- 
sion, as  she  had  in  so  many  other  unlike  instances, 
she  acceded  to  his  request ;  toiling  backward  up 


140  Sleet  and  Snow. 

the  ascent  and  fetching  thence  an  armful  of  the 
stoutest  boughs  she  could  twist  from  branches. 

She  neared  the  marsh  on  her  return.  All  that 
she  could  discern  was  a  straw  hat  bobbing  hither 
and  thither;  the  horns  of  a  cow  tossing  to  and 
fro;  the  tail  of  a  cow  lashing  the  air. 

A  voice  she  heard,  shouting  forth  in  impatient 
bursts  of  sound,  "Anna,  Anna  Kull !  " 

"Here!    I'm  coming,"  she  responded. 

"  Hurry  up  !  I'm  eaten  alive.  Snow's  crazy  and 
Sleet's  a  lunatic,"  shouted  her  brother,  jerking 
the  words  forth  between  the  vain  dives  his  hand 
made  into  the  cloud  of  wings  in  the  air. 

"  Sakes  alive!"  said  poor  Anna,  toiling  from 
sedge  bog  to  sedge  bog  with  her  burden  of 
"bushes"  and  striving  to  hide  her  face  from  the 
mosquitoes  as  she  went. 

It  was  nearly  noon-day  then,  and  the  Fourth  of 
July  too,  but  neither  Valentine  nor  Anna  thought 
of  the  day  of  the  month.  Why  should  they? 
The  Nation  wasn't  born  yet  whose  hundredth 
birthday  we  keep  this  year. 

The  solemn  assembly  of  earnest  men — debating 
the  to  be  or  not  to  be  of  the  United  States — was 
over  there  at  work  in  Congress  Hall  in  the  old 
State  House.  They  were  heated  with  sun  and 
brick  and  argument;  a  hundred  and  ten  British 
ships  of  war  were  anchoring  and  at  anchor  over 
on  the  ocean  side  of  Staten  Island.  Up  the  bay, 
seven  or  eight  thousand  troops  in  "  ragged  regi- 
mentals" were  working  to  make  ready  for  battle; 


Sleet  and  Snow.  141 

but  not  one  of  them  all  suffered  more  from  sun 
and  toil  and  anxiety  and  greed  of  blood  than  did 
the  lad  and  the  lass  in  the  marsh. 

They  fought  it  out,  with  many  a  sting  and  smart, 
another  hour,  and  then  declaring  that  "  cow  of  no 
cow  they  couldn't  stay  another  minute,"  they 
strove  to  work  their  way  out  of  the  beautiful 
green  of  the  sedge. 

On  the  meadow-land  stood  their  mother.  She 
had  brought  dinner  for  her  hungry  children, — 
moreover,  she  had  brought  news. 

The  Yankee  troops — the  Jersey  militia — had 
gone,  but  the  British  soldiers  had  arrived  and 
demanded  beef — beef  raw,  beef  roasted,  beef  in 
any  form. 

The  tears  that  the  fiercest  mosquito  had  failed 
to  extort  from  Anna  came  now.  "I  wish  I'd  let 
her  go,"  she  cried,  fondly  stroking  Sleet.  At 
least  she  wouldn't  have  been  killed,  and  we'd  had 
her  again  sometime,  maybe;  but  now — I  say, 
Valentine,  are  you  going  to  give  up  Snow?'' 

"  No,  I  ain't"  stoutly  persisted  the  .lad,  slap- 
ping with  his  broad  palm  the  panting  side  of  the 
calf,  where  mosquitoes  still  clung. 

"  But,  my  poor  children,"  said  Mother  Kull, 
"you  will  have  to.  It  can't  be  helped.  If  we 
refuse  them,  don't  you  know,  they  will  burn  our 
house  down." 

"If  they  do,  P II  kill  them  !  "  The  words  shot  out 
from  the  gunpowdery  temper  of  Anna  Kull. 
Poor  innocent  girl  of  thirteen  !  She  never  in  her 


142  Sleet  and  Snow. 

life  had  seen  an  act  of  cruelty  greater  than  the 
taking  of  a  fish  or  the  death  of  a  chicken  ;  but  the 
impotent  impulse  of  revenge  arose  within  her  at 
the  bare  idea  of  having  her  pet,  her  pretty  Sleet, 
taken  from  her  and  eaten  by  soldiers. 

"You'd  better  keep  still,  Anna  Kull,"  said 
Valentine.  "  Mother,  don't  you  think  we  might 
hide  the  animals  somewhere?" 

"Where?"  echoed  the  poor  woman,  looking 
up  and  looking  down. 

Truly  there  seemed  to  be  no  place.  Already 
six  thousand  British  soldiers  had  landed  and  taken 
possession  of  the  island.  Hills  and  forests  were 
not  high  enough  nor  deep  enough  ;  and  now  the 
very  marsh  had  cast  them  out  by  its  army  of 
winged  stingers — more  dreadful  than  human  foe. 

"  I  just  wish,"  ejaculated  the  poor  sunburned, 
mosquito-tortured,  hungry  girl,  who  stood  be- 
tween marsh  and  meadow, — "  I  wish  I  had  'em 
every  one  tied  hand  and  foot  and  dumped  into 
the  sedge  where  we've  been.  Mother,  I  wouldn't 
use  Sleet's  milk  to-night,  not  a  drop  of  it, — it's 
crazy  milk,  I  know :  she's  been  tortured  so.  Poor 
cow !  poor  creature !  poor,  dear,  nice,  honest 
Sleet ! "  And  Anna  patted  the  cow  with  loving 
stroke  and  laid  her  head  on  its  neck. 

"  Well,  children,  eat  something,  and  then  we'll 
all  go  home  together, — if  they  haven't  carried  off 
our  cot  already,"  said  the  mother. 

They  sat  down  under  a  tree  and  ate  with  the 
eager,  wholesome  appetite  of  children.  Mrs. 


Sleet  and  Snow.  143 

Kull  kept  watch  that  the  cow  did  not  wander 
far  from  the  place. 

As  they  were  eating,  Valentine  said  to  Anna, 
nodding  his  head  in  the  direction  of  his  mother: 
"  I've  thought  of  something.  We  must  manage 
to  send  her  home  without  us." 

"  Pve  thought  of  something,"  responded  Anna. 
"  Yes,  we  must  manage." 

"  I  should  like  to  know  what  you  could  think 
of,  sister." 

"  Should  you  ?  Why,  think  of  saving  the  cow 
and  calf,  of  course ;  though,  if  you're  very 
particular,  you  can  leave  the  calf  here." 

"  And  what  will  you  do  with  the  cow  ?" 

"  Put  her  in  the  boat — " 

"Whew  !"  interrupted  Valentine. 

"  And  ferry  her  over  the  sound,"  continued 
Anna. 

"Who?" 

"  You  and  me." 

"  Do  you  think  we  could  ?  '' 

"  We  can  try." 

"  That's  brave  !     How's  your  arm  ?  " 

"All  right!  I  jerked  it  back,  slapping 
mosquitoes." 

"  Give  us  another  hunkey  piece  of  bread  and 
butter.  Honey's  good  to-day.  I  wonder  mother 
thought  about  it." 

"  I  s'pose,"  said  Anna,  "  she'd  as  leave  we  had 
it  as  soldiers.  Wouldn't  it  be  jolly  if  we  could 
make  'em  steal  the  bees  ?  " 


144  Sleet  and  Snow. 

The  wind  blew  east.  Up  came  martial  sounds 
mingled  with  the  break  and  the  roar  of  the  ocean. 

"Oh,  dear!  They're  a  coming1,"  gasped  Mrs. 
Kull,  running  to  the  spot.  "  They're  coming,  and 
your  father  is  not  here." 

"  Hide,  hide,  my  children  !  Never  mind  the 
cow  now,"  she  almost  shrieked ;  her  mind  was 
running  wild  with  all  the  scenes  of  terror  she  had 
ever  heard  of. 

"  Pshaw  !  pshaw  !  Mother  Kull,"  said  her  boy, 
assuringly.  "  They  won't  come  down  here. 
Somebody's  guiding  them  around  who  knows 
just  where  every  house  is.  You  and  Anna  get 
into  that  thicket  yonder  and  keep,  whatever 
happens,  as  still  as  mice." 

"  What'll  you  do,  bub?"  questioned  Anna,  her 
sunburned  face  brown-pale  with  affright. 

"  Oh,  I'll  take  care  of  myself.     Boys  always  do." 

As  soon  as  Mrs.  Kull  and  her  daughter  were 
well  concealed  in  the  thicket,  the  sounds  began 
to  die  away.  They  waited  half  an  hour.  All  was 
still.  They  crept  out,  gazing  the  country  over. 
No  soldier  in  sight.  Down  in  the  marsh  again 
were  boy  and  cow. 

"  I'll  run  home  now,"  said  Mrs.  Kull.  I  dare 
say  'twas  all  a  trick  of  my  ears." 

"  But  I  heard  it,  too,  Mother  Kull." 

"  Your  ears  serve  you  tricks,  too,  Anna.  You 
wait  and  help  Valentine  home  with  the  animals." 

Anna  was  glad  to  have  her  mother  gone.  She 
sped  to  the  marsh.  She  threaded  it,  until  by 


Sleet  and  Snow.  145 

sundry  signs  she  found  the  trio  and  summoned 
them  forth. 

The  old  Blazing  Star  Ferry  was  seldom  used. 
A  boat  lay  there.  It  was  staunch.  The  tide  with 
them,  they  might  get  it  across.  Had  they  been 
older,  wiser,  they  would  never  have  made  the 
attempt. 

A  fresh  water  stream  ran  down  to  the  sea. 
They  passed  it  on  their  way  thither.  In  it  Sleet 
drank  deep,  and  soothed  for  a  moment  the  bites 
that  tormented  her;  the  children  kneeled  on  the 
grassy  bank,  and  drank  from  their  palms;  the 
calf  frolicked  in  it,  till  driven  out.  An  hour  went 
by.  They  reached  the  ferry.  It  was  deserted. 
Somebody  had  used  the  boat  that.  day.  It  was  at 
the  shore.  Grass  was  yet  in  it. 

"Come  along,  Snow,"  said  Valentine,  urging 
with  the  rope.  "  Go  along,  Snow,"  said  Anna, 
helping  it  on  with  a  stout  twig  she  had  picked  up. 
The  calf  pranced  and  ran,  and  before  it  knew  its 
whereabouts  was  in  the  broad-bottomed  boat. 
Sleet  stood  on  the  shore,  and  saw  her  baby  tied 
fast.  One  poor  cry  the  calf  uttered.  It  went 
home  to  the  motherly  heart  of  the  dumb  creature. 
She  went  down  the  sand,  over  the  side,  and 
began,  in  her  own  way,  to  comfort  Snow. 

"Now  we  are  all  right!"  cried  Valentine, 
delighted  with  the  success  of  his  ruse  ;  for  he  had 
slyly,  lest  Anna  should  see  the  deed,  thrust  a  pin 
in  Snow  to  call  forth  the  cry  and  win  the  cow 
over  to  his  side. 


146  Sleet  and  Snow. 

"  Take  an  oar  quick  !  "  commanded  the  young 
captain. 

His  mate  obeyed.  They  pushed  the  boat  out, 
unfastened  it  from  the  pier.  Before  anybody 
concerned  had  time  to  realize  the  situation  the 
boat  was  adrift,  and  they  were  whirling  in  the  tide. 

"Now,  sis,"  said  Valentine,  a  big  lump  in  his 
throat,  "we're  in  for  it.  It  is  sink  or  swim.  It's 
not  much  use  to  row.  You  steer  and  I'll  paddle." 

Sleet  looked  wildly  around.  She  tossed  her 
head,  sniffed  the  salt,  oystery  air,  and  seemed 
about  to  plunge  overboard. 

Anna  screamed.  Valentine  threw  down  his 
paddle  and  dashed  himself  on  the  boat's  outer- 
most edge  just  in  time  to  save  it  from  overturning. 
Mistress  Sleet,  disgusted  with  Fourth  of  July,  had 
made  up  her  mind  to  lie  down  and  take  a  nap. 
The  boat  righted  and  they  were  safe.  Staten 
Island  Sound  at  this  point  was  narrow,  scarcely 
more  than  a  quarter  of  a  mile  in  width,  and  the 
tide  was  fast  bearing  them  out. 

"  Such  uncommon  good  sense  in  Sleet,"  ex- 
claimed the  boy.  "  That  cow  is  worth  saving." 

At  that  moment  a  dozen  Red  Coats  were  at  the 
ferry  they  had  just  left.  The  imperious  gentle- 
men were  in  a  fine  frenzy  at  finding  the  boat  gone. 

They  shouted  to  the  children  to  return. 

"  Steady,  steady  now,"  cried  the  young  captain. 
His  mate  was  steady  at  the  helm  until  a  musket 
ball  or  two  ran  past  them. 

"  Let  go  !  "  shouted  the  captain.     "  Swing  your 


Sleet  and  Snow.  147 

bonnet.  Let  them  know  you're  a  woman  and 
they  won't  fire  on  you" 

The  little  mate  stood  erect.  She  waved  her 
pink  flag  of  a  sun-bonnet.  Distinctly  the  soldiers 
saw  the  pink  frock  of  Anna  Kull ;  they  saw  her 
long  hair  as  the  sea  breeze  lifted  it  when  she 
shook  her  pink  banner. 

A  second,  two,  three  went  by  as  the  girl  stood 
there,  and  then  a  flash  was  seen  on  the  bank,  a 
musket-ball  ran  through  the  bonnet  of  the  little 
mate,  and  the  waves  of  air  rattled  along  the 
shore. 

The  bonnet  was  in  the  sea;  Anna  had  dropped 
to  her  seat  and  caught  the  helm  in  her  left  hand. 

"Cowards!"  cried  Valentine,  for  want  of  a 
stronger  word,  and  then  he  fell  to  working  the 
boat  on  its  way.  The  tide  helped  them  now  ;  it 
swung  the  boat  over  toward  the  Jersey  shore. 

The  firing  from  Staten  Island  called  out  the 
inhabitants  on  the  Jersey  coast.  They  watched 
the  approaching  boat  with  interest.  Everything 
depended  now  on  the  cow's  lying  still,  on  the 
boy's  strength,  on  the  meeting  of  the  tides.  If  he 
could  reach  there  before  the  tide  came  up  all 
would  be  well ;  otherwise  it  would  sweep  him 
off  again  toward  the  island. 

"  Can't  you  row?"  asked  Valentine,  at  length. 

"  Bub,  I  can't,"  said  Anna,  her  voice  shaking 
out  the  words.  It  was  the  first  time  she  had 
spoken  since  she  sat  down. 

"  Are  you  hurt?  "  he  questioned. 


148  Sleet  and  Snow. 

"  I  tremble  so,"  she  answered,  and  turned  her 
face  away. 

"  I  reckon  we'd  better  help  that  boy  in,"  said  a 
Jersey  fisherman  as  he  watched,  and  he  put  off 
in  a  small  boat. 

"  Don't  come  near  !  Keep  off  !  keep  off  !  " 
called  Valentine,  as  he  saw  him  approach.  "I've 
a  cow  in  here." 

The  fisherman  threw  him  a  rope,  and  that  rope 
saved  them.  The  dewy  smell  of  the  grassy  banks 
had  aroused  the  cow.  She  was  stirring. 

The  land  was  very  near  now;  close  at  hand. 
"Hurry!  hurry!"  urged  the  lad,  as  they  were 
drawing  him  in.  Before  the  cow  had  time  to 
rise,  the  boat  touched  land. 

"  You'd  better  look  after  that  girl,"  said  the 
fisherman,  who  had  towed  the  boat.  The  poor 
child  was  holding,  fast  wrapped  in  the  remnants 
of  her  pink  frock,  her  bleeding  hand.  The 
musket  ball  that  shot  away  her  bonnet  grazed 
her  wrist. 

"  Never  mind  me,"  she  said,  when  they  were 
pitying  her.  "  The  cow  is  safe." 

The  same  evening,  while,  in  Philadelphia, 
bonfires  were  blazing,  bells  ringing,  cannon 
booming,  because,  that  day,  a  new  nation  was 
born  ;  over  Staten  Island  Sound,  by  the  light  of 
the  moon,  strong-armed  men  were  ferrying  home 
the  girl  and  the  boy,  who  that  day  had  fought  a 
good  fight  and  gained  the  victory. 

At   home,   in   the    Kull    cottage,    the   mother 


Sleet  and  Snow.  149 

waited  long  for  the  coming  of  the  children.  She 
said  ;  "  Poor  young  things  !  Mine  own  children — 
they  shall  have  a  nice  supper."  She  made  it 
ready  and  they  were  not  come. 

Farmer  Rycker's  wife  and  daughter  came  over 
to  tell  and  hear  the  news,  and  yet  they  were  not 
come. 

Sundown.  No  children.  The  Kull  father  came 
up  from  his  fishing  and  heard  the  story. 

"The  Red  Coats  have  taken  them,"  he  said,  and 
down  came  the  musket  from  against  the  wall,  and 
out  the  father  marched  and  made  straightway  for 
the  headquarters  of  General  Howe,  over  at  the 
present  "  Quarantine." 

Then  the  mother,  left  alone  in  the  soft  summer 
gloaming,  fell  on  her  knees  and  told  her  story  in 
her  own  plain  speech  to  her  good  Father  in 
Heaven. 

It  was  a  long  story.  She  had  much  to  say  to 
Heaven  that  night.  The  mothers  and  wives  of 
1776  in  our  land  spake  often  unto  God.  This 
mother  listened  and  prayed,  and  prayed  and 
listened. 

The  fishermen  had  left  Valentine  and  Anna  on 
the  shore  and  gone  home.  Tired,  but  happy,  the 
brother  and  sister  went  up,  over  sand  and  field 
and  slope,  and  so  came  at  length  within  sight 
of  the  trees  that  towered  near  home. 

"  Whistle  now  ! "  whispered  Anna,  afraid  yet  to 
speak  aloud.  "  Mother  will  hear  and  answer." 

Valentine  whistled. 


150  Sleet  and  Snow. 

Up  jumped  the  mother  Kull.  She  ran  to  the 
door  and  tried  to  answer.  There  was  no  whistle 
in  her  lips.  Joy  choked  it. 

"  Mother,  are  you  there?"  cried  the  children. 

"No!  I'm  here"  was  the  answer,  and  she  had 
them  safe  in  her  arms. 


Patty  Rutter:  The  Quaker  Doll  who 
slept  in  Independence  Hall. 


ATTY  RUTTER  had  fallen  asleep  with 
her  bonnet  on,  and  had  been  lying 
there,  fast  asleep,  nobody  knew  just 
how  long;  for,  somehow — it  happened 
so — there  was  nobody  in  particular  to  awaken 
her ;  that  is  to  say,  no  one  had  seemed  to  care 
though  she  slept  on  all  day  and  all  night,  without 
ever  waking  up  at  all. 

But  then,  there  never  had  been  another  life 
quite  like  Patty  Rutter's  life.  In  the  first  place, 
it  had  a  curious  reason  for  beginning  at  all ;  and 
nearly  everything  about  it  had  been  as  unlike 
your  life  and  mine  as  possible. 

In  her  very  baby  days,  before  she  walked  or 
talked,  she  had  been  sent  away  to  live  with 
strangers,  and  no  real,  warm  kiss  of  true  love 
had  ever  fallen  on  her  little  lips. 

It  all  came  about  in  this  way :  Mrs.  Sarah 
Rutter,  a  lady  living  in  Philadelphia — exactly 
what  relation  she  bore  to  Patty  it  is  a  little  diffi- 
cult to  determine — decided  to  send  the  little  one 
to  live  with  a  certain  Mrs.  Adams,  at  Quincy,  in 
Massachusetts,  and  she  particularly  desired  that 


152  Patty  Rutter. 

the  child  should  go  dressed  in  a  style  fitting  an 
inhabitant  of  the  proud  city  of  Philadelphia. 

Now,  at  that  time  Philadelphia  was  very  much 
elated  because  of  several  things  that  had  hap- 
pened to  her;  but  the  biggest  pride  of  all  was, 
that  once  upon  a  time  the  Continental  Congress 
had  met  there,  and — and  most  wonderful  thing — 
had  made  a  Nation  ! 

Well,  to  be  sure,  that  was  something  to  be 
proud  of;  though  Patty  didn't  understand,  a  bit 
more  than  you  do,  what  it  meant.  However,  the 
glory  of  it  all  was  talked  about  so  much  that  she 
couldn't  help  knowing  that,  when  this  nation, 
with  its  fifty-six  Fathers,  and  thirteen  Mothers, 
was  born  one  day  in  July,  1776,  at  Philadelphia, 
all  the  city  rang  with  a  sweet  jangle,  and  called 
to  all  the  people,  through  the  tongue  of  its 
Liberty  bell,  to  come  up  and  greet  the  new- 
comer with  a  great  shout  of  welcome. 

But  that  had  been  long  ago,  before  Mrs.  Sarah 
Rutter  was  grown  up,  or  Patty  Rutter  began 
to  be  dressed  for  her  trip  to  Quincy. 

As  I  wrote,  Mrs.  Rutter  wished  that  Patty 
should  go  attired  in  a  manner  to  do  honor  to  the 
city  of  Philadelphia ;  therefore  she  was  not  per- 
mitted to  depart  in  her  baby  clothes,  but  her 
little  figure  was  arrayed  in  a  long,  prim  gown  of 
soft  drab  silk,  while  a  kerchief  of  purest  mull  was 
crossed  upon  her  breast;  and,  depending  from 
her  waist,  like  the  fashion  of  to-day,  were  pin- 
cushion and  watch.  Upon  her  youthful  head 


Patty  Rutter.  153 

was  a  bonnet,  crowned  and  trimmed  in  true 
Quaker  fashion ;  and  her  infantile  feet  were 
securely  tied  within  shapely  slippers  of  kid. 
Thus  equipped,  Miss  Patty  was  sent  forth  upon 
her  journey. 

Ah  !  that  journey  began  a  long  time  ago — fifty- 
eight,  yes,  fifty-nine  years  have  gone  by,  and 
Patty  Rutter  is  quite  an  aged  little  lady  now,  as 
she  lies  asleep,  with  her  bonnet  on. 

"  It  is  time,"  says  somebody,  "  to  close." 

No  one  seems  to  take  notice  that  Patty  Rutter 
does  not  get  up  and  depart  with  the  rest  of  the 
visitors,  that  she  only  stirs  her  eyelids  and  turns 
her  head  on  the  silken  "quilt''  where  she  is 
lying. 

The  little  woman  who  keeps  house  in  the  Hall 
locks  it  up  and  goes  away,  and  there  is  little 
Patty  Rutter  shut  in  for  the  night.  As  the  key 
turns  in  the  old-time  lock,  the  Lady  Rutter  winks 
hard  and  sits  up. 

"  Well,  I've  been  patient,  anyhow,  and  Mrs. 
Samuel  Adams  herself  couldn't  wish  me  to  do 
more,"  she  said,  with  a  comforting  yawn  and  a 
delightful  stretch,  and  then  she  began  to  stare  in 
blank  bewilderment. 

"  1  should  like  to  know  what  this  all  means,"  she 
whispered,  "and  where  I  am.  I've  heard  enough 
to-day  to  turn  my  head.  How  very  queer  folks 
are,  and  they  talk  such  jargon  now-a-days.  Cen- 
tennial and  Corliss  Engine ;  Woman's  Pavilion 
and  Memorial  Hall;  Main  Building  and  the 


154  Patty  Rutter. 

Trois  Freres ;  Hydraulic  Annex,  railroads  and 
what-nots. 

"/never  heard  of  such  things.  I  don't  think 
it  is  proper  to  speak  of  them,  or  the  Adamses 
would  have  told  me.  No  more  intelligent  folks  in 
the  land  than  the  Adamses,  and  I  guess  they 
know  what  belongs  to  good  society  and  polite 
conversation.  I  declare  I  blushed  so  in  my  sleep 
that  I  was  quite  ashamed.  I'll  get  up  and  look 
about  now.  I'm  sure  this  isn't  any  one  of  the 
houses  where  we  visit,  or  folks  wouldn't  talk  so." 

Patty  Rutter  straightened  her  bonnet  on  her 
head,  smoothed  down  her  robe  of  silken  drab, 
adjusted  her  kerchief,  looked  at  her  watch  to 
learn  how  long  she  had  been  sleeping,  and  found, 
to  her  surprise,  that  it  had  run  down.  Right 
over  her  head  hung  two  watches. 

"  Why,  how  thoughtful  folks  are  in  this  house," 
she  exclaimed  in  a  timid  voice,  reaching  up  and 
taking  one  of  the  two  time-pieces  in  her  hand. 
"  Why,  here's  a  name  ;  let  me  see." 

Reading  slowly,  she  announced  that  the  watch 
belonged  to  "Wil-liam  Wil-liams — worn  when  he 
signed  the  Declaration  of  Independence."  "  Ah  !" 
she  cried,  with  pathetic  tone,  "  this  watch  is  run 
down  too,  at  four  minutes  after  five.  I  remember ! 
This  William  Williams  was  one  of  the  fifty-six 
Fathers.  I  guess  I  must  be  in  Lebanon — he  lived 
there  and  his  folks  would  have  his  watch  of 
course.  Here's  another,"  taking  down  a  watch 
and  reading,  "  Colonel  John  Trumbull.  Run 


Patty  Rtctter.  155 

down,  too  !  and  at  twenty -three  minutes  after  six. 
He  was  the  son  of  Brother  Jonathan,  Governor 
of  one  of  the  Mothers,  when  the  Nation  was  born. 
Yes,  yes,  I  must  be  in  Lebanon.  Well,  it's  a  com- 
fort, at  least,  to  know  that  I'm  in  company  the 
Adamses  would  approve  of,  though  how  I  came 
here  is  a  mystery." 

She  hung  the  watches  in  place,  stepped  out  of 
the  glass  room,  in  which  she  had  slept,  into  a  hall, 
and  with  a  slight  exclamation  of  delicious  ap- 
proval, stopped  short  before  a  number  of  chairs, 
and  clasped  her  little  fingers  tightly  together. 

You  must  remember  that  Patty  Rutter  was  a 
Friend,  a  Quaker,  perhaps  a  descendant  of  Wil- 
liam Penn,  but  then,  in  her  baby  days,  having 
been  transplanted  to  the  rugged  soil  and  out- 
spoken ways  of  Massachusetts,  she  could  not 
keep  silence  altogether,  in  view  of  that  which 
greeted  her  vision. 

She  was  in  the  very  midst  of  old  friends. 
Chairs  in  which  she  had  sat  in  her  young  days 
stood  about  the  grand  hall.  On  the  walls  hung 
portraits  of  the  ancestor  kings  of  the  nation  born 
at  Philadelphia  in  1776. 

In  royal  robes  and  with  careless  grace,  lounged 
King  George  III.,  the  nation's  grandfather,  angry 
no  longer  at  his  thirteen  daughters  who  strayed 
from  home  with  the  Sons  of  Liberty. 

Her  feet  made  haste  and  her  eyes  opened 
wider,  as  her  swift  hands  seized  relic  after  relic. 
She  sat  in  chairs  that  Washington  had  rested  in 


156  Patty  Rutter. 

she  caught  up  camp-kettles  used  on  every  field 
where  warriors  of  the  Revolution  had  tarried  ; 
she  patted  softly  La  Fayette's  camp  bedstead  ; 
and  wondered  at  the  taste  that  had  put  into  the 
hall  two  old,  time-worn,  battered  doors,  but  soon 
found  out  that  they  had  gone  through  all  the 
storm  of  balls  that  fell  upon  the  Chew  House 
during  the  battle  of  Germantown. 

She  read  the  wonderful  prayer  that  once  was 
prayed  in  Carpenter's  Hall,  and  about  which 
every  member  of  Congress  wrote  home  to  his 
wife. 

On  a  small  "  stand/'  encased  in  glass,  she  came 
upon  a  portrait  of  Washington,  painted  during 
the  time  he  waited  for  powder  at  Cambridge. 
Patty  Rutter  had  seen  it  often,  with  its  halo  of 
the  General's  own  hair  about  it.  She  turned 
from  it,  and  beheld  (why,  yes,  surely  she  had  seen 
that,  but  not  here ;  it  was,  why  long  ago,  in  her 
baby  days  in  Philadelphia,  that  Mrs.  Rutter  had 
taken  her  up  into  a  tower  to  see  it,  a  bell — 
Liberty  Bell,  that  rang  above  the  heads  of  the 
Fathers  when  the  Nation  was  born. 

Poor  little  Patty  began  to  cry.  Where  could 
she  be?  She  reached  out  her  hand,  and  climbed 
the  huge  beams  that  encased  the  bell,  and  tried 
to  touch  the  tongue.  She  wanted  to  hear  it  ring 
again,  but  could  not  reach  it. 

"  It's  curious,  curious,"  she  sobbed,  wiping  her 
eyes  and  turning  them  with  a  thrill  of  delight 
upon  a  beloved  name  that  greeted  her  vision.  It 


Patty  Rutter.  157 

was  growing  dark,  and  she  might  be  wrong.  But 
no,  it  was  the  dear  name  of  Adams  ;  and  she  saw, 
in  a  basket,  a  little  pile  of  baby  raiment.  There 
were  dainty  caps  and  tiny  shirts  of  cambric, 
whose  linen  was  like  a  gossamer  web,  and  whose 
delicate  lines  of  hem-stitch  were  scarcely  dis- 
cernible ;  there  were  small  dresses,  yellow  with 
the  sun  color  that  time  had  poured  over  them, 
and  they  hung  with  pathetic  crease  and  tender 
fold  over  the  sides  of  the  basket. 

The  little  woman  paused  and  peered  to  read 
these  words,  "Baby-clothes,  made  by  Mrs.  John 
Adams  for  her  son,  John  Quincy  Adams." 

"Little  John  Quincy  !"  she  cried,  "A  baby  so 
long  ago  !"  She  took  the  little  caps  in  her  hands, 
she  pulled  out  the  crumpled  lace  that  edged 
them.  She  said,  through  the  swift-falling  tears  : 

"Oh,  I  remember  when  he  was  brought  home 
dead,  and  how,  in  the  Independence  Hall  of  the 
State  House  .at  Philadelphia,  he  lay  in  state,  that 
the  inhabitants  who  knew  his  deeds,  and  those  of 
his  father,  John,  and  his  uncle,  Samuel,  might 
see  his  face.  I  love  the  Adamses  every  one,"  and 
she  softly  pressed  the  baby-caps  that  had  been 
wrought  by  a  mother,  ere  the  country  began,  to 
her  small  Quaker  lips,  with  real  New  England 
fervor  for  its  very  own.  Tenderly  she  laid  them 
down,  to  see,  while  the  light  was  fading,  a  huge 
picture  on  the  wall.  She  studied  it  long,  trying 
to  discern  the  faces,  with  their  savage  beauty  ; 
the  sturdy  right-doing  men  who  stood  before 


158  Patty  Rutter. 

them ;  and  then  her  eyes  began  to  glisten,  and 
gather  light  from  the  picture ;  her  lips  parted, 
her  breath  quickened  ;  for  Patty  Rutter  had  gone 
beyond  her  life  associations  in  Massachusetts, 
back  to  the  times  in  which  her  Quaker  ancestors 
had  make  treaty  with  the  native  Indians. 

"  It  is  !"  she  cried  with  a  shout ;  "  It  is  Penn's 
treaty !"  Patty  gazed  at  it  until  she  could  see  no 
longer.  "  I'm  glad  it  is  the  last  thing  my  eyes 
will  remember,"  she  said  sorrowfully,  when  in 
the  gloom  she  turned  away,  went  down  the  hall, 
and  entered  her  glass  chamber. 

"Never  mind  my  watch,"  she  said  softly. 
"  When  I  waken  it  will  be  daylight,  and  I  need 
not  wind  it.  It  will  be  so  sweet  to  lie  here 
through  the  night  in  such  grand  and  goodly  com- 
pany. I  only  wish  Mrs.  Samuel  Adams  could 
come  and  kiss  me  good  night." 

With  these  words,  Patty  Rutter  laid  herself  to 
rest  upon  the  silken  quilt  from  Gardiner's  Island; 
and  if  you  look  within  the  Relic  Room,  opposite 
to  Independence  Hall,  in  the  old  State  House  at 
Philadelphia,  in  this  Centennial  summer,  you  will 
find  her  there,  still  taking  her  long  nap,  fully 
indorsed  by  Miss  Adams,  and  in  Independence 
Hall,  across  the  passage  way,  you  will  see  the 
portraits  of  more  than  fifty  of  the  Fathers  of  the 
nation,  but  the  Mothers  abide  at  home. 


BECCA    BUCKSTONE'S    TURKEYS 
AT  VALLEY  FORGE. 


|URKEYS,  little  girl  and  apple-tree  lived 
in  Pennsylvania,  a  hundred  years  ago. 
The   turkeys — eleven   of   them — went 
to  bed  in  the  apple-tree,  one  night  in 
December. 

After  it  was  dark,  the  little  girl  stood  under  the 
tree  and  peered  up  through  the  boughs  and 
began  to  Count.  She  numbered  them  from  one 
up  to  eleven.  Addressing  the  turkeys,  she  said  : 
"  You're  all  up  there,  I  see,  and  if  you  only  knew 
enough ;  if  you  weren't  the  dear,  old,  wise,  stupid 
things  that  you  are,  I'll  tell  you  what  you  would 
do.  After  I'm  gone  in  the  house,  and  the  door  is 
shut,  and  nobody  here  to  see,  you'd  get  right 
down,  and  you'd  fly  off  in  a  hurry  to  the  deepest 
part  of  the  wood  to  spent  your  Thanksgiving, 
you  would.  The  cold  of  the  woods  isn't  half  as 
bad  for  you  as  the  fire  of  the  oven  will  be." 

Becca  finished  her  speech  ;  the  turkeys  rustled 
in  their  feathers  and  doubtless  wondered  what  it 
all  meant,  while  she  stood  thinking.  One  poor 
fellow  lost  his  balance  and  came  fluttering  down 
to  the  ground,  just  as  she  had  decided  what  to  do. 
As  soon  as  he  was  safely  reset  on  his  perch, 


1 60       Becca  Blackstone's  Turkeys  at  Valley  Forge. 

Becca  made  a  second  litlle  speech  to  her  audience, 
in  which  she  declared  that  "they,  the  dear  tur- 
keys, were  her  own ;  that  she  had  a  right  to  do 
with  them  just  as  she  pleased,  and  that  it  was  her 
good  pleasure  that  not  one  single  one  of  the 
eleven  should  make  a  part  of  anybody's  Thanks- 
giving dinner." 

"Heigh-ho,"  whistles  Jack,  Becca's  ten-year-old 
brother:  "that  you,  Bee?  High  time  you  were 
in  the  house." 

"  S'pose  I  frightened  you,"  said  Becca.  "  Where 
have  you  been  gone  all  the  afternoon,  I'd  like  to 
know?  stealin'  home  too,  across  lots.' 

"  I'll  tell,  if  you  won't  let  on  a  mite." 

"  Do  I  ever,  Jack?"  reproachfully. 

He  did  not  deign  to  answer,  but  in  confidential 
whispers  breathed  it  into  her  ears  that  "  he  had 
been  down  to  the  Forge.  Down  to  the  Valley 
Forge,  where  General  Washington  was  going  to 
fetch  down  lots  and  lots  of  soldiers,  and  build  log 
huts,  and  stay  all  Winter."  He  ended  his  breath- 
less narration  with  an  allusion  that  made  Becca 
jump  as  though  she  had  seen  a  snake.  He  said  : 
"  It  will  be  bad  for  your  turkeys." 

"  Why,  Jack  ?  General  Washington  won't  steal 
them." 

"Soldiers  eat  turkey  whenever  they  can  get  it; 
and,  Bee,  this  apple-tree  isn't  above  three  miles 
from  the  Forge.  You'd  better  have 'em  all  killed 
for  Thanksgiving.  Come,  I'm  hungry  as  a  bear." 


Becca  B  lack  stone' s  Turkeys  at  Valley  jForge.       161 

"  But,"  said  Becca,  grasping  his  jacket  sleeve  as 
they  went,  "  I've  just  promised  'em  that  they  shall 
not  be  touched." 

Jack's  laugh  set  every  turkey  into  motion,  until 
the  tree  was  all  in  a  flutter  of  excitement.  He 
laughed  again  and  again,  before  he  could  say 
"  What  a  little  goose  you  are  !  Just  as  if  turkeys 
understood  a  word  you  said." 

"But  I  understood  if  they  didn't,  and  I  should 
be  telling  my  own  self  a  lie.  No,  not  a  turkey 
shall  die.  They  shall  all  have  a  real  good  Thanks- 
giving once  in  their  lives." 

Two  days  later,  on  the  i8th  of  December, 
Thanksgiving  Day  came,  the  turkeys  were  yet 
alive,  and  Becca  Blackstone  was  happy. 

The  next  day  General  Washington's  eleven 
thousand  men  marched  into  Valley  Forge,  and 
went  out  upon  the  cold,  bleak  hillsides,  carrying 
with  them  almost  three  thousand  poor  fellows, 
too  ill  to  march,  too  ill  to  build  log  huts,  ill 
enough  to  lie  down  and  die.  Such  a  busy  time 
as  there  was  for  days  and  days.  Farmer  Black- 
stone  felt  a  little  toryish  in  his  thoughts,  but  the 
chance  to  sell  logs  and  split  slabs  so  near  home  as 
Valley  Forge  was  not  likely  to  happen  again,  and 
he  worked  away  with  strong  good  will  to  furnish 
building  material.  Jack  went  every  day  to  the 
encampment,  and  grew  quite  learned  in  the  ways 
of  warlike  men. 

Becca  staid  at  home  with  her  mother,  but 
secretly  wished  to  see  what  the  great  army 
looked  like. 


1 62       Becca  Slacks  tone 's  Turkeys  at  Valley  Forge. 

At  last  the  final  load  of  chestnut  and  walnut 
and  oaken  logs  went  up  to  the  hills  from  Mr. 
Blackstone's  farm,  and  a  great  white  snow  fell 
down  over  all  Pennsylvania,  covering  the  moun- 
tains and  hills,  the  soldiers'  log  huts,  and  the  tur- 
keys in  the  apple-tree.  January  came  and  went, 
and  every  day  affairs  at  the  camp  grew  worse. 
Men  were  dying  of  hunger  and  cold  and  disease. 
Stories  of  the  sufferings  of  the  men  grew  strangely 
familiar  to  the  inhabitants.  Affairs  that  Winter 
would  not  have  been  quite  so  hard  at  Valley 
Forge  if  the  neighbors  for  miles  around  had  not 
been  Tories.  Now  Becca  Blackstone's  mother 
was  a  New  England  women,  and  in  secret  she  be- 
stowed many  a  comfort  upon  one  after  another  of 
her  countrymen  at  the  encampment.  Her  hus- 
band was  willing  to  sell  logs  and  slabs  and  clay 
from  his  pits,  but  not  a  farthing  or  a  splinter  of 
wood  had  he  to  bestow  on  the  rebels. 

At  last,  one  January  day,  when  Mr.  Blackstone 
had  gone  to  Philadelphia,  permission  was  given 
to  Becca  to  accompany  her  mother  and  Jack  to 
the  village.  Into  the  rear  of  the  sleigh  a  big  bas- 
ket was  packed.  Becca  was  told  that  she  must 
not  ask  any  questions  nor  peep,  so  she  neither 
questioned  nor  looked  in,  but  found  out,  after  all, 
for  when  they  were  come  to  the  camp,  she  saw 
her  mother  take  'out  loaves  of  rye  bread  and  a 
jug,  into  which  she  knew  nothing  but  milk  ever 
was  put,  and  carry  them  into  a  hut  which  had  the 
sign  of  a  hospital  over  it.  Every  third  cabin  was 


Becca  Blackstone's  Turkeys  at  Valley  Forge.       163 

a  hospital,  and  each  and  every  one  held  within  it 
men  that  were  always  hungry  and  in  suffering. 

In  all  her  life  Becca  had  never  seen  so  much  to 
make  her  feel  sorry,  as  she  saw  when  she  followed 
her  mother  to  the  door  of  the  log-hospital,  into 
which  she  was  forbidden  to  enter. 

There  large-eyed,  hungry  men  lay  on  the  cold 
ground,  with  only  poor,  wretched  blankets  to 
cover  them.  She  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  youth — 
he  did  not  seem  much  older  than  her  own  Jack — 
with  light,  fair  hair,  such  big  blue  eyes,  and  the 
thinnest,  whitest  hands,  reaching  up  for  the  mug 
of  milk  her  mother  was  offering  to  him. 

Then,  when  Jack  came  to  her,  he  was  wiping 
his  eyes  on  his  jacket  sleeve.  He  said  "  If  I  was  a 
soldier,  and  my  country  didn't  care  any  more  for 
me  than  Congress  does,  I'd  go  home  and  leave 
the  Red  Coats  to  carry  off  Congress.  It's  too 
bad,  and  he's  a  jolly  good  fellow.  Wish  we 
could  take  him  home  and  get  him  well." 

"  Who  is  he,  Jack  ?  " 

"O,  a  soldier-boy  from  one  of  the  New  England 
colonies.  He's  got  a  brother  with  him — that's 
good." 

The  drive  home,  over  the  crisp  snow,  was  a 
very  silent  one.  More  than  one  tear  froze  on 
Mrs.  Blackstone's  cheek,  as  she  remembered  the 
misery  her  eyes  had  beheld,  and  her  hands  could 
do  so  little  to  lighten. 

The  next  day  Mr.  Blackstone  reached  .home 
from  Philadelphia.  He  had  seen  the  Britons  in 


164       Becca  Blackstone' s  Turkeys  at  Valley  Forge. 

all  the  glory  and  pomp  of  plenty  and  red  regi- 
mentals in  a  prosperous  city.  He  returned  a 
confirmed  Tory,  and  wished — never  mind  what 
he  did  wish,  since  his  unkind  wish  never  came  to 
pass — but  this  is  that  which  he  did,  he  forbade 
Mrs.  Blackstone  to  give  anything  that  belonged 
to  him  to  a  soldier  ot  General  Washington's  army. 

"  What  will  you  do  now,  mamma,  with  all  the 
stockings  and  mittens  you  are  knitting?  "  ques- 
tioned Becca. 

"  Don't  ask  me,  child,"  was  the  tearful  answer 
that  mother  made,  for  her  whole  heart  was  with 
her  countrymen  in  their  brave  struggle. 

Three  nights  after  that  time  Mr.  Blackstone 
entered  his  house,  saying  : 

"I  caught  a  ragged,  bare-footed  tatterdemalion 
hanging  around,  and  I  warned  him  off;  told  him 
he'd  better  go  home,  if  he'd  got  one  anywhere, 
and  if  not  to  join  the  army,  of  his  king  at  Philadel- 
phia." 

"  What  did  he  say,  pa  ?"  asked  Jack. 

"  O  some  tomfoolery  or  other  about  the  man 
having  nothing  to  eat  but  hay  for  two  days,  and 
his  brother  dying  over  at  the  Forge.  I  didn't 
stop  to  listen  to  the  fellow,  but  sent  him  flying." 

Jack  touched  his  mother's  toe  in  passing,  and 
gave  Becca  a  mysterious  nod  of  the  head,  as  much 
as  to  say : 

"  He's  the  soldier  from  our  hospital  over  there," 
but  nobody  made  answer  to  Mr.  Blackstone. 


Becca  Blackstone's  Turkeys  at  Valley  Forge.       165 

Becca's  eyes  filled  with  tears  as  she  sat  down  at 
the  tea-table,  and  sturdy  Jack  staid  away  until 
the  last  minute,  taking  all  the  time  he  could  at 
washing  his  hands,  that  he  might  get  as  many 
looks  as  possible  through  the  window  in  the  hope 
that  the  bare-footed  soldier  might  be  lingering 
about,  but  he  gained  no  glimpse  of  him. 

Farmer  Blackstone  had  the  rheumatism  some- 
times, and  that  night  he  had  it  worse  than  ever, 
so  that  an  hour  after  tea-time  he  was  quite  ready 
to  go  to  bed,  and  his  wife  was  quite  ready  to 
have  him  go,  also  to  give  him  the  soothing,  quiet- 
ing remedies  he  called  for. 

Becca  was  to  sit  up  that  night  until  eight-of- 
the-clock,  if  she  made  no  noise  to  disturb  her 
father. 

While  her  mother  was  busied  in  getting  her 
father  comfortable,  she  thought,  as  it  was  such 
bright  moonlight,  she  would  go  out  to  give  her 
turkeys  a  count,  it  having  been  two  or  three 
nights  since  she  had  counted  them. 

Slipping  a  shawl  of  her  mother's  over  her  head, 
she  opened  softly  the  kitchen  door  to  steal  out. 
The  lowest  possible  whistle  from  Jack  accosted 
her  at  the  house  corner.  That  lad  intercepted 
her  course,  drew  her  back  into  the  shadow,  and 
bade  her  "Look!" 

She  looked  across  the  snow,  over  the  garden 
wall,  into  the  orchard,  and  there,  beneath  her 
apple-tree,  stood  something  between  a  man  and  a 
scarecrow,  and  it  appeared  to  be  looking  up  at 
the  sleeping  turkeys.  Both  arms  were  uplifted. 


1 66       Becca  Blackstone's  Turkeys  at  Valley  Forge. 

"O  dear!  what  shall  we  do?"  whispered 
Becca,  all  in  a  shiver  of  cold  and  excitement. 

"  Let's  go  and  speak  to  him.  Maybe  it  is  our 
hospital  man,"  said  Jack,  with  a  great  appearance 
of  courage. 

The  two  children  started,  hand  in  hand,  and 
approached  the  soldier  so  quietly  that  he  did  not 
hear  the  sound  of  their  coming. 

As  they  went,  Becca  squeezed  her  brother's 
fingers  and  pointing  to  the  snow  over  which  they 
walked,  whispered  the  word  "  Blood  ! " 

"  From  his  feet,"  responded  Jack,  shutting  his 
teeth  tightly  together. 

Yes,  there  it  lay  in  bright  drops  on  the  glisten- 
ing snow,  showing  where  the  feet  of  the  patriot 
had  trod.  The  children  stood  still  when  they  were 
come  near  to  the  tree.  At  the  instant  their  mother 
appeared  in  the  kitchen  doorway  and  called 
"Jack!" 

The  ragged  soldier  of  the  United  American 
States  lost  his  courage  at  the  instant  and  began 
to  retire  in  confusion ;  but  Becca  summoned  him 
to  "  Wait  a  minute  !  "  He  waited. 

"  Did  you  want  one  of  my  turkeys  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  was  going  to  steal  one,  to  save  my  brother's 
life,"  he  answered. 

"  Is  he  only  a  boy,  and  has  he  light  hair  and 
blue  eyes,  and  does  he  lie  on  the  wet  ground?" 

"  That's  Joseph,"  he  groaned. 

"  Then  take  a  good,  big,  fat  turkey — that  one 
there,  if  you  can  get  him,"  said  Becca.  "  They  are 
all  mine." 


Becca  Blackstone's  Turkeys  at  Valley  Forge.       167 

The  turkey  was  quietly  secured. 

"  Now  take  one  for  yourself,"  said  Becca. 

Number  two  came  down  from  the  perch. 

"How  many  men  are  there  in  your  hospital?" 
asked  Jack,  who  had  responded  to  his  mother's 
summons,  and  was  holding  a  pair  of  warm  stock- 
ings in  his  hand. 

"Twelve." 

"  Give  him  another,  Bee — there's  a  good  girl ; 
three  turkeys  ain't  a  bone  too  many  for  twelve 
hungry  men,"  prompted  Jack. 

"  Take  three  ! "  said  Becca.  "  My  pa  never 
counts  my  turkeys." 

The  third  turkey  joined  his  fellows. 

"  Better  put  these  stockings  on  before  you  start, 
or  father  will  track  you  to  the  camp,"  said  Jack. 
"  And  pa  told  ma  never  to  give  you  anything  of 
his  any  more." 

Never  was  weighty  burden  more  cheerfully 
borne  than  the  bag  Jack  helped  to  hoist  over  the 
soldier's  shoulder  as  soon  as  the  stockings  had 
been  drawn  over  the  bleeding  feet. 

"Now  I'm  going.  Thank  you,  and  good  night. 
If  you,  little  girl,  would  give  me  a  kiss,  I'd  take 
it — as  from  my  little  Bessy  in  Connecticut." 

"  That's  for  Bessy  in  Connecticut,"  said  the 
little  girl,  giving  him  one  kiss,  "and  now  I'll  give 
you  one  for  Becca  in  Pennsylvania.  Hurry  home 
and  roast  the  turkeys  quick." 

They  watched  him  go  over  the  hill. 


1 68       Becca  Blackstone 's  Turkeys  at  Valley  Forge. 

"  Jack,"  said  Becca,  "  if  I'd  told  a  lie  to  the  tur- 
keys where  would  they  have  been  to-night,  and 
Joseph?  There  are  eight  more.  I  wish  I'd  told 
him  to  come  again.  Pa's  rheumatism  came  just 
right  to-night,  didn't  it? 

"  I  reckon  next  year  you  won't  have  all  the 
turkeys  to  give  away  to  the  soldiers,"  said  Jack, 
adding  quite  loftily,  "  I  shall  go  to  raising  turkeys 
in  the  Spring  myself,  and  when  Winter  comes  we 
shall  see." 

"  Now,  Jacky,"  said  Becca,  half-crying,  "  there 
are  eight  left,  and  you  take  half." 

"No,  I  won't,"  rejoined  Jack.  "  I'd  just  like  to 
walk  over  to  Valley  Forge  and  see  the  soldiers 
enjoy  turkey.  Won't  they  have  a  feast !  I 
shouldn't  wonder  if  they'd  eat  one  raw." 

"O,  Jack!" 

"Soldiers  do  eat  dreadful  things  sometimes," 
he  assured  her  with  a  lofty  air.  And  then  they 
went  into  the  house,  and  the  door  was  shut. 

The  next  year  there  was  not  a  soldier  left  above 
the  sod  at  Valley  Forge. 

Now  the  soldiers  are  gone,  the  camp  is  not,  the 
little  girl  has  passed  away,  the  apple-tree  is  dead, 
and  only  the  hills  at  Valley  Forge  are  left  to  tell 
the  story,  bitter  with  suffering,  eloquent  with 
praise,  of  the  men  who  had  a  hundred  years  ago 
toiled  for  Freedom  there,  and  are  gone  home  to 
God. 


HOW    TWO    LITTLE    STOCKINGS 
SAVED   FORT  SAFETY. 


STORY,  children ;  so  soon  after 
Christmas,  too  !  Let  me  think,  what 
shall  it  be  ?" 

"  O   yes,   mamma,"   uttered    three 
children  in  chorus. 

Mrs.  Livingston  sat  looking  into  the  fire  that 
flamed  on  the  broad  hearth  so  long,  that  Carl 
said,  by  way  of  reminder  that  time  was  passing: 
"  An  uncommon  story.'' 

Then  up  spoke  Bessie:  "Mamma,  something, 
please,  out  of  the  real  old  time  before  much  of 
anybody  'round  here  was  born." 

"  As  long  off  as  the  Indians,"  assisted  young 
Dot. 

"Ah  yes;  that  will  do,  children.  I  will  tell 
you  a  story  that  happened  in  this  very  house 
almost  a  hundred  years  ago.  It  was  told  to  me 
by  my  grandmother  when  she  was  very  old." 

There  was  a  grand  old  lady,  Mrs.  Livingston, 
at  the  head  of  this  house  then.  She  loved  her 
country  very  much  indeed,  and  was  willing  to  do 
anything  she  could  to  help  it,  in  the  time  of  great 
trouble,  during  the  war  for  independence.  My 

12 


170      How  Two  Little  Stockings  Saved  Fort  Safety. 

grandmother  was  a  little  girl,  not  so  old  as  you, 
Bessie.  Her  name  was  Lorinda  Grey,  and  her 
home  was  in  Boston.  The  year  before,  when 
British  soldiers  kept  close  watch  to  see  that  noth- 
ing to  eat,  or  wear,  or  burn,  was  carried  into  Bos- 
ton, Mr.  Grey  contrived  to  get  his  family  out  of 
the  city,  and  Lorinda,  with  her  brother  Otis,  was 
sent  here.  Afterward,  when  Boston  was  free 
again,  the  two  children  were  left  because  the 
father  was  too  busy  to  make  the  long  journey 
after  them. 

Altogether,  more  than  a  dozen  children  belong- 
ing in  some  way  to  the  Livingstons  had  been  sent 
to  the  old  house.  The  family  friends  and  rela- 
tives gave  the  place  the  name  "  Fort  Safety,3* 
because  it  lay  far  away  from  the  enemy's  ships, 
and  quite  out  of  the  line  where  the  soldiers  of 
either  army  marched  or  camped. 

The  year  had  been  very  full  of  sorrow  and  care 
and  trouble  and  hard  work;  but  when  the  time 
for  Christmas  drew  near,  this  grand  old  Mrs.  Liv- 
ingston said  it  should  be  the  happiest  Christmas 
that  the  old  house  had  ever  known.  She  would 
make  the  children  happy  once,  whatever  might 
come  afterward,  and  so  she  set  about  it  quite 
early  in  the  fall.  One  day  the  children  (there 
were  more  than  a  dozen  of  them  in  the  house  at 
the  time)  found  out  that  the  great  room  at  the 
end  of  the  hall  was  locked.-  They  asked  Mrs. 
Livingston  many  times  when  it  meant,  and  at  last 
she  told  them  that  one  night  after  they  were  in 


How  Two  Little  Stockings  Saved  Fort  Safety.      171 

bed  and  asleep,  Santa  Claus  appeared  at  her  door 
and  asked  if  he  might  occupy  that  room  until  the 
night  before  Christmas.  She  told  him  he  might, 
and  he  had  locked  the  door  himself,  and  said  "  if 
any  child  so  much  as  looked  through  a  crack  in 
the  door  that  child  would  find  nothing  but  chest- 
nut burs  in  his  stocking."  Well,  the  children 
knew  that  Santa  Claus  meant  what  he  said, 
always,  so  they  used  to  run  past  the  door  every 
day  as  fast  as  they  could  go  and  keep  their  eyes 
the  other  way,  lest  something  should  be  seen  that 
ought  not  to.  Before  the  day  came  every  wide 
chimney  in  the  house  was  swept  bright  and  clean 
for  Santa  Claus. 

Aunt  Elise,  a  sweet  young  lady,  lived  here 
then.  She  was  old  Mrs.  Livingston's  daughter, 
and  she  told  the  children  that  she  had  seen  Santa 
Claus  with  her  own  eyes  when  he  locked  the 
door,  and  he  said  that  every  room  must  be  made 
as  fine  as  fine  could  be. 

After  that  Tom  and  Richard  and  Will  and 
Philip  worked  away  as  hard  as  they  could.  They 
gathered  bushels  and  bushels  of  ivy,  and  a  mile 
or  two  of  ground-pine,  and  eight  or  ten  pecks  of 
bitter-sweet,  and  stored  them  all  in  the  corn 
granary,  and  waited  for  the  day.  Then,  when 
Aunt  Elise  set  to  work  to  adorn  the  house,  she 
had  twenty-four  willing  hands  to  help,  beside  her 
own  two. 

When  all  was  made  ready,  and  it  was  getting 
near  to  night  in  the  afternoon  before  Christmas, 


172      How  Two  Little  Stockings  Saved  Fort  Safety. 

Mrs.  Livingston  sent  a  messenger  for  three  men 
from  the  farm.  When  they  were  come,  she 
called  in  three  African  servants,  and  she  said  to 
the  six  men,  "  Saddle  horses  and  ride  away,  each 
one  of  you  in  a  different  direction,  and  go  to 
every  house  within  five  miles  of  here,  and  ask: 
"  Are  any  children  in  this  habitation  ?"  Then 
say  that  you  are  sent  to  fetch  the  children's 
stockings,  that  Santa  Claus  wants  them,  and  take 
special  care  to  bring  me  two  stockings  from  each 
child,  whose  father  or  brother  is  away  fighting  for 
his  country." 

So  the  six  men  set  forth  on  their  queer  errand, 
after  stockings,  and  they  rode  up  hill  and  down, 
and  to  the  great  river's  bank,  and  wherever  the 
message  was  given  at  a  house  door,  if  a  child  was 
within  hearing,  off  flew  a  stocking,  and  some- 
times two,  as  the  case  might  be  about  father  and 
brother. 

Now,  in  a  deep  little  dell,  about  five  miles 
away,  there  was  a  small,  old  brown  house,  and  in 
it  lived  Mixie  Brownson  with  her  mother  and 
brother,  but  this  night  Mixie  was  all  alone. 
When  one  of  the  six  horsemen  rode  up  to  the 
door,  and  without  getting  down  from  his  horse, 
thumped  away  on  it  with  his  riding-whip  handle, 
Mixie  thought,  "  Like  as  not  it  is  an  Indian,"  but 
she  straightway  lifted  the  wooden  latch  and 
opened  the  door. 

"  There's  one  child  here,  I  see,"  said  the  black 
man.  "  Any  more  ?" 


How  Two  Little  Stockings  Saved  Fort  Safety,      173 

"  I'm  all  alone,"  trembled  forth  poor  Mixie. 

"  More's  the  pity,"  said  the  man.  "  1  want  one 
of  your  stockings  ;  two  of  'em,  if  you're  a  soldier's 
little  girl.  I'm  taking  stockings  to  Santa  Claus." 

"  O  take  both  mine,  then ,  please,"  said  Mixie 
with  delight,  and  she  drew  off  two  warm  woolen 
stockings  and  made  them  into  a  little  bundle,  which 
he  thrust  into  a  bag,  and  off  he  rode.  Mixie's 
father  was  a  Royalist,  fighting  with  the  Indians 
for  the  British,  but  then  Mrs.  Livingston  knew 
nothing  about  that. 

It  was  nearly  midnight  when  the  stockings 
reached  Fort  Safety.  It  was  in  this  very  room 
that  Mrs.  Livingston  and  Aunt  Elise  received 
them.  Some  were  sweet  and  clean,  and  some 
were  not ;  some  were  new  and  some  were  old. 
So  they  looked  them  over,  and  made  two  little 
piles,  the  one  to  be  filled,  the  other  to  be  washed. 

About  this  time  Santa  Claus  came  down  from 
his  locked-up  room,  with  pack  after  pack,  and 
began  to  fill  stockings.  There  were  ninety-seven 
of  them,  beside  sixteen  more  that  were  hung  on 
a  line  stretched  across  the  fire-place  by  the  chil- 
dren before  they  went  to  bed,  so  as  to  be  very 
handy  for  Santa  Claus  when  he  should  enter  by 
the  chimney. 

"  What  an  awful  rich  lady  my  fine  old  Grand- 
mother Livingston  must  have  been,  to  have 
goodies  enough  to  fill  113  stockings!"  said  Carl, 
his  red  hair  fairly  glistening  with  interest  and 
pride  ;  while  Bessie  and  Dot  looked  eagerly  at 


174      How  Two  Little  Stockings  Saved  Fort  Safety. 

the  fire-place  and  around  the  room,  to  see  if  any 
fragment  of  a  stocking  might,  by  any  chance,  be 
about  anywhere. 

Well,  at  last  the  stockings  were  full.  I  cannot 
tell  you  exactly  what  was  in  them.  I  remember 
that  my  grandmother  said,  that  in  every. stocking 
went,  first  of  all,  a  nice,  pretty  pair  of  new  ones, 
just  the  size  of  the  old  ones  ;  and  next,  a  pair  of 
mittens  to  fit  hands  belonging  with  feet  that 
could  wear  the  stockings.  I  know  there  were 
oranges  and  some  kind  of  candy,  too. 

At  last  the  stockings  were  all  hung  on  a  line 
extending  along  two  sides  of  the  room,  and  Mrs. 
Livingston  and  Aunt  Elise  locked  the  room,  and 
being  very  tired,  went  to  bed.  The  next  morn- 
ing, bright  and  early,  there  was  a  great  pattering 
of  bare  feet  and  a  flitting  of  night-gowns  down 
the  staircase,  past  the  evergreen  trees  in  the  hall, 
and  a  little  host  of  twelve  children  stood  at  that 
door,  trying  to  get  in  ;  but  it  was  all  of  no  use, 
and  they  had  to  march  back  to  bed  again. 

As  for  Otis  Grey,  he  was  a  real  Boston  boy, 
full  of  the  spirit  of  a  Liberty  Rebel.  He  dressed 
himself  slyly,  slipped  down  on  the  great  stair- 
rail,  so  as  to  make  no  noise,  opened  softly  the 
hall-door,  went  outside,  climbed  up,  and  looked 
into  the  room.  When  he  peeped,  he  was  so 
frightened  at  the  long  line  of  fat  stockings  that 
he  made  haste  down,  and  never  said  a  word  to 
anybody,  except  my  grandmother  (Lorinda  Grey, 
his  sister) ;  and  they  two  kept  the  secret. 


How  Two  Little  Stockings  Saved  Fort  Safety.      175 

Breakfast  time  came,  and  not  a  child  of  the 
dozen  had  heard  a  word  from  Santa  Glaus  that 
morning. 

Mrs.  Livingston  said  a  very  long  grace,  and 
after  that  she  said  to  the  children  :  "  I  have  dis- 
appointed you  this  morning,  but  you  will  all  have 
your  stockings  as  soon  as  a  little  company  I  have 
invited  to  spend  the  day  with  you,  is  come." 

"  Bless  me  !  "  whispered  Otis  Grey  to  his  sister, 
are  all  them  stockings  a-coming  ?" 

"  Otis,"  said  Mrs.  Livingston,  "  you  may  leave 
the  table." 

Otis  obeyed  silently,  and  lost  his  Christmas 
breakfast  for  the  time.  Mrs.  Livingston  had 
strict  laws  in  her  house,  and  punishment  always 
followed  disobedience. 

The  morning  was  long  to  the  children,  but  it 
was  a  busy  time  in  the  winter  kitchen,  and  even 
the  summer  kitchen  was  alive  with  cookery;  and 
at  just  midday  Philip  cried  out  "  Company's 
come,  grandma!" 

A  dozen  or  more  of  the  stocking-owners  were 
at  the  door.  In  they  trooped,  bright  and  laugh- 
ing and  happy.  Before  they  were  fairly  inside, 
more  came,  and  more,  and  still  more,  until  full 
sixty  boys  and  girls  were  gathered  up  and  down 
the  great  hall  and  parlors.  Mixie  Brownson 
came  on  the  last  sled-load.  Now  Mrs.  Living- 
ston did  not  know,  even  by  name,  more  than  one- 
half  of  the  young  folks  she  had  undertaken  to 
make  happy  that  day  ;  but  that  made  no  manner 


176      How  Two  Little  Stockings  Saved  Fort  Safety. 

of  difference,  and  the  children  had  not  the  least 
idea  that  Santa  Glaus  had  their  stockings  all 
hung  up  in  this  room,  until  suddenly  the  doors 
were  opened,  and  there  was  the  great  hickory- 
wood  fire,  and  the  sunlight  streaming  in,  and  the 
stockings,  fat  and  bulging,  hanging  in  rows. 
Some  were  red,  and  some  were  blue,  and  some 
were  white,  and  some  were  mixed.  Grand  old 
Mrs.  Livingston  stood  within  the  room,  her 
white  curls  shining  and  her  stiff  brocade  trailing. 

"Come  in,  children,"  she  said,  and  in  they 
trooped,  silent  with  awe  and  wonder  at  the  sight 
they  saw.  The  lady  arranged  them  side  by  side, 
in  lines,  on  the  two  sides  of  the  room  where  the 
stockings  were  not,  and  then  she  said : 

"  Santa  Claus,  come  forth  !  " 

In  yonder  corner  there  began  a  motion  in  the 
branches  of  the  evergreen  tree,  and  such  a  Santa 
Claus  as  crept  forth  was  never  seen  before.  He 
was  bulgy  with  furs  from  crown  to  foot,  but  he 
made  a  low  curve  over  toward  Mrs.  Livingston, 
and  then  nodded  his  head  about  the  lines  of 
children. 

"  Good  day  to  you,  this  Christmas,"  he  said. 

"  Wish  you  Merry  Christmas,  Santa  Claus," 
said  Philip,  with  a  bow. 

"  Here's  business,"  said  Santa  Claus.  "  Stock- 
ings, let  me  see.  Whoever  owns  the  stocking 
that  I  take  down  from  the  line,  will  step  forward 
and  take  it." 

Every  single  one  of  the  children  knew  his  or 
her  own  property,  at  a  glance.  Santa  Claus  had 


How  Two  Little  Stockings  Saved  fort  Safety.      177 

a  busy  time  of  it  handing  down  stockings,  and  a 
few  minutes  later  he  escaped  without  notice,  and 
was  seen  no  more  that  year,  in  Fort  Safety. 

After  the  stockings  came  dinner,  and  such  a 
dinner  as  it  was !  Whatever  there  was  not,  I 
remember  that  it  was  told  to  me  that  there  was 
great  abundance  of  English  plum-pudding.  After 
dinner  came  games  and  more  happiness,  and 
after  the  last  game,  came  time  to  go  home.  The 
sweet  clear  afternoon  suddenly  became  dark  with 
clouds,  and  it  began  to  snow  soon  after  the  first 
load  set  off.  One  or  two  followed,  and  by  the 
time  the  last  one  was  ready  to  start,  Mrs.  Living- 
ston looked  forth  and  said  "  not  another  child 
should  leave  her  roof  that  night  in  such  a  blind- 
ing storm." 

Eight  little  hands  clapped  their  new  mittens 
together  in  token  of  joy,  but  poor  little  Mixie 
Brownson  began  to  cry.  She  had  never  in  her 
life  been  away  from  the  brown  house. 

Tea  was  served,  and  Mixie  was  comforted  for 
a  short  time.  After  that  came  games  again,  until 
all  were  weary  with  play  ;  and  Otis  Grey  begged 
Mrs.  Livingston  for  a  story. 

Mixie  was  tearful  still,  and  she  crept  shyly  to 
the  lady's  side  and  sobbed  forth  :  "  I  wish  you  was 
my  grandma  and  would  take  me  in  your  lap." 

Mrs.  Livingston  stooped  and  kissed  Mixie's 
cheek,  then  lifted  her  on  her  knees  and  began  to 
tell  the  children  a  story.  It  must  have  been  a 
very  pretty  picture  that  the  old,  blowing  snow- 


178      How  Two  Little  Stockings  Saved  Fort  Safety. 

storm  looked  in  upon  that  night,  in  this  very 
room :  twenty  or  more  children  seated  around 
the  fire-circle,  with  stately  Mrs.  Livingston  and 
pretty  Aunt  Elise  in  their  midst. 

Whilst  all  this  was  going  on  within,  outside  a 
band  of  Indians,  led  by  a  white  man,  was  ap- 
proaching Fort  Safety  to  burn  it  down. 

Step  by  step,  the  savages  crept  nearer  and 
nearer,  until  they  were  standing  in  the  very  light 
that  streamed  out  from  the  Christmas  windows. 

The  white  man  who  led  them  was  in  the  ser- 
vice of  the  English,  and  knew  every  step  of  the 
way,  and  just  who  lived  in  the  great  house. 

He  ordered  them  to  stand  back  while  he 
looked  in.  Creeping  closer  and  closer,  he 
climbed,  as  Otis  Grey  had  done,  and  put  his  face 
to  the  window-pane.  He  saw  Mrs.  Livingston 
and  Miss  Elise,  and  the  great  circle  of  eager,  in- 
terested faces,  all  looking  at  the  story-teller,  and 
he  wiped  his  eyes  in  order  to  get  one  more  good 
look,  for  he  could  not  believe  the  story  they  told 
to  him:  that  his  own  poor  little  Mixie  was  in 
there,  sitting  in  proud  Mrs.  Livingston's  lap, 
looking  happier  than  he  had  ever  seen  her.  He 
stayed  so  long,  peering  in,  that  the  savages  grew 
impatient.  One  or  two  of  their  chief  men  crept 
up  and  put  their  swarthy  faces  beside  his  own. 

It  so  happened  that  at  that  moment  Aunt  Elise 
glanced  toward  the  window.  She  did  not  scream, 
she  uttered  no  word ;  but  she  fell  from  her  chair 
to  the  floor. 


How  Two  Little  Stockings  Saved  Fort  Safety.      179 

Mixie's  father,  for  it  was  he  who  led  the  sav- 
ages, saw  what  was  happening  within,  and 
ordered  the  Indians  to  march  away  and  leave  the 
big  house  unhurt.  They  grunted  and  grumbled, 
and  refused  to  go  until  they  had  been  told  that  the 
little  girl  on  the  lady's  knee  was  his  little  girl. 

"  He  not  going  to  burn  his  own  papoose,''  ex- 
plained  the  Indian  chief  to  his  red  men  ;  and 
then  the  evil  band  went  groping  away  through 
the  storm. 

The  story  to  the  children  was  not  finished  that 
night,  for  on  the  floor  lay  pretty  Aunt  Elise,  as 
white  as  white  could  be ;  and  it  was  a  long  time 
before  she  was  able  to  speak.  As  soon  as  she 
could  sit  up,  she  wished  to  get  out  into  the  open 
air. 

Mrs.  Livingston  went  with  her,  and  when  she 
was  told  what  had  been  seen  at  the  window,  they 
together  examined  the  freshly  fallen  snow  and 
found  traces  of  moccasined  feet. 

With  fear  and  trembling,  the  two  ladies  en- 
tered the  house.  Not  a  word  of  what  had  been 
seen  was  spoken  to  servant  or  child.  Aunt  Elise 
from  an  upper  window  kept  watch  during  the 
time  that  Mrs.  Livingston  returned  thanks  to 
God  for  the  happy  day  the  children  had  passed, 
and  asked  His  love  and  protecting  care  during 
the  silent  hours  of  sleep. 

Then  the  sleepy,  happy  throng  climbed  the 
wide  staircase  to  the  rooms  above,  went  to  bed 
and  slept  until  morning. 


180      How  Two  Little  Stockings  Saved  Fort  Safety. 

Not  a  red  face  approached  Fort  Safety  that 
night.  The  two  ladies,  letting  the  Christmas 
fires  go  down,  kept  watch  from  the  windows 
until  the  day  dawned. 

"  I'm  so  glad,''  exclaimed  Carl,  "  that  my  fine, 
old,  greatest  of  grandmothers  thought  of  having 
that  good  time  at  Christmas." 

"  Dear  me  !"  sighed  Bessie,  "  if  she  hadn't,  we 
wouldn't  have  this  nice  home  to-day." 

"  Mamma,"  said  Dot,  "  let's  have  a  good  stock- 
ing-time next  Christmas;  just  like  that  one,  all 
but  the  Indians." 

"O,  mamma,  will  you  ?"  cried  Bessie,  jumping 
with  glee. 

"  Where  would  we  get  the  soldiers'  children, 
though,"  questioned  Carl. 

"  Lots  of  'em  in  Russia  and  Turkey,  if  we  only 
lived  there,"  observed  Bessie.  "  But  there's 
always  plenty  of  children  that  want  a  good  time 
and  never  get  it,  just  as  much  as  the  soldiers' 
children  did.  Will  you,  mamma?" 

"  When  Christmas  comes  again,  I  will  try  to 
make  just  as  many  little  folks  happy  as  1  can," 
said  Mrs.  Livingston. 

"  And  we'll  begin  now"  said  Carl,  " so  as  to  be 
all  ready.  I  shall  saw  all  summer,  so  as  to  make 
lots  of  pretty  brackets  and  things." 

"  And  I  s'pose  I  shall  have  to  dress  about  five 
hundred  dolls  to  go  'round,"  sighed  Bessie, 
"  there  are  so  many  children  now-a-days." 


A  DAY  AND   A  NIGHT  IN  THE 
OLD   PORTER  HOUSE. 


ONDAY  morning,  July  5th,  1779,  was 
oppressively  warm  and  sultry  in  the 
Naugatuck  Valley.  Great  Hill,  that 
rises  so  grandly  to  the  northward  of 
Union  City,  and  at  whose  base  the  red  house  still 
nestles  that  was  built  either  by  Daniel  Porter  or 
his  son  Thomas  before  or  as  early  as  1735,  was 
bathed  in  the  full  sunlight,  for  it  was  past  eight  of 
the  clock.  Up  the  hill  had  just  passed  a  herd  of 
cows  owned  by  Mr.  Thomas  Porter  and  driven 
by  his  son  Ethel,  a  lad  of  fourteen,  and  Ethel's 
sister  Polly,  aged  twelve  years. 

"  It's  awful  hot  to-day ! "  said  Ethel,  as  he 
threw  himself  on  the  grass  at  the  hill-top — the 
cows  having  been  duly  cared  for. 

"  You'd  better  not  lose  time  lying  here,"  said 
Polly.  "  There's  altogether  too  much  going  on 
uptown  to-day  >  and  there's  lots  to  do  before  we 
go  up  to  celebrate." 

"One  thing  at  a  time,"  replied  Ethel,  "and  this 
is  my  time  to  rest.  I  never  knew  a  hill  to  grow 
so  much  in  one  night  before." 

"  Well !  you  can  rest,  but  I'm  going  to  find  out 
what  that  fellow  is  riding  his  poor  horse  so  fast 


1 82      A  Day  and  a  Night  in  the  Old  Porter  House. 

for  this  hot  morning — somebody  must  be  dying! 
Just  see  that  line  of  dust  a  mile  away  !  "  and  Polly 
started  down  Great  Hill  to  meet  the  rider. 

The  horseman  stayed  his  horse  at  Fulling  Mill 
Brook  to  give  him  a  drink,  and  Polly  reached  the 
brook  just  at  the  instant  the  horse  buried  his  nose 
in  the  cool  stream. 

"Do  you  live  near  here?"  questioned  the 
rider. 

"  My  father,  Mr.  Thomas  Porter,  keeps  the  inn 
yonder,"  sajd  Polly. 

"  I  can't  stop,"  said  the  horseman,  "  though  I've 
ridden  from  New  Haven  without  breakfast,  and  I 
must  get  up  to  the  Center;  but  you  tell  your 
father  the  British  are  landing  at  West  Haven. 
They  have  more  that  forty  vessels !  The  new 
president  was  on  the  tower  of  the  College  when 
I  came  by,  watching  with  his  spy-glass,  and  he 
shouted  down  that  he  could  see  them,  landing." 

At  that  instant,  Ethel  reached  the  brook. 
"What's  going  on?  "  he  questioned. 

"  You're  a  likely  looking  boy — you'll  do  !  "  said 
the  horseman,  with  a  glance  at  Ethel,  cutting  off 
at  the  same  instant  the  draught  his  horse  was 
enjoying,  by  a  sudden  pull  at  the  bridle  lines. 
"You  go  tell  the  news!  Get  out  the  militia! 
Don't  lose  a  minute." 

"  What  news  ?  What  for  ?  "  asked  Ethel,  but 
the  rider  was  flying  onward. 

"A  pretty  time  we'll  have  celebrating  to-day," 
said  Polly,  to  herself,  dipping  the  corner  of  her 


A  Day  and  a  Night  in  the  Old  Porter  House.     183 

« 

apron  into  the  brook  and  wiping  her  heated  face 
with  it,  as  she  hurried  to  the  house.  Meanwhile, 
her  brother  was  running  and  shouting  after  the 
man  who  had  ridden  off  in  such  haste. 

As  Polly  entered  the  house  the  big  brick  oven 
stood  wide  open,  and  it  was  filled  to  the  door 
with  a  roaring  fire.  On  the  long  table  stood 
loaves  of  bread  almost  ready  for  the  oven.  Her 
sister  Sybil  was  putting  apple  pies  on  the  same 
table.  Sybil  was  a  beautiful  girl  of  twenty  years, 
much  admired  and  greatly  beloved  in  the  region. 

"  What  is  Ethel  about  so  long  this  morning, 
that  I  have  his  work  to  do,  I  wonder  !  "  exclaimed 
Mr.  Thomas  Porter,  as  he  lifted  himself  from  the 
capacious  fire-place  in  which  he  had  been  piling 
birch-wood  under  the  crane — from  which  hung  in 
a  row  three  big  iron  pots. 

"  It  is  a  pretty  hot  morning,  and  the  sun  is 
powerful  on  the  hill,  father,"  said  Mrs.  Mehitable 
Porter  in  reply — not  seeing  Polly,  who  stood  pant- 
ing and  glowing  with  all  the  importance  of  having 
great  news  to  tell. 

"  Father,"  cried  Polly,  "  where  is  Truman  and 
the  men?  Send  'em  !  send  'em  everywhere  !" 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  what's  the  matter,  child  ?  " 
exclaimed  Mr.  Porter,  while  his  wife  and  Sybil 
stood  in  alarm.  • 

At  that  instant  Ethel  sprang  in,  crying  out, 
"  The  •  militia  !  The  militia  !  They  want  the 
militia." 


1 84      A  Day  and  a  Night  in  the  Old  Porter  House. 

"  What  for,  and  who  wants  the  men  ? "  asked 
his  father. 

"  I  don't  know.  He  didn't  stop  to  tell.  He 
said :  '  Get  out  the  militia  !  Don't  lose  a  minute  ! ' 
and  then  rode  on." 

"  Father,  I  know,"  said  Polly.  "  He  told  me. 
The  British  ships,  more  than  forty  of  them,  are 
landing  soldiers  at  New  Haven.  President  Stiles 
saw  them  at  daybreak  from  the  college  tower 
with  his  spy-glass." 

Before  Polly  had  ceased  to  speak,  Ethel  was  off. 
Within  the  next  ten  minutes  six  horses  had  set 
forth  from  the  Porter  house — each  rider  for  a 
special  destination. 

"  I'll  give  the  alarm  to  the  Hopkinses,"  cried 
back  Polly  from  her  pony,  as  she  disappeared  in 
the  direction  of  Hopkins  Hill. 

"  And  I'll  stir  up,  Deacon  Gideon  and  all  the 
Hotchkisses  from  the  Captain  over  and  down," 
said  ten-year-old  Stephen,  as  he  mounted. 

"  You'd  better  make  sure  that  Sergeant  Calkins 
and  Roswell  hear  the  news.  Tell  Captain  Ter- 
rell to  get  out  his  Ring-bone  company,  and  don't 
forget  Captain  John  and  Abraham  Lewis,  Lieu- 
tenant Beebe,  and  all  the  rest.  It  isn't  much  use 
to  go  over  the  river — not  much  help  we'd  get, 
however  much  the  British  might,  on  that  side," 
advised  Mr.  Porter,  as  the  fourth  messenger 
departed. 

When  the  last  courier  had  set  forth,  leaving 
only  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Porter,  Sybil  and  two  servants 


A  Day  and  a  Night  in  the  Old  Porter  House.     185 

in  the  house,  Mr.  Porter  said  to  his  wife :  "  I 
believe,  mother,  that  I'll  go  up  town  and  see 
what  I  can  do  for  Colonel  Baldwin  and  Phineas.'' 
Major  Phineas  Porter  was  his  brother,  who  six 
months  earlier  had  married  Melicent,  daughter  of 
Colonel  Baldwin  and  widow  of  Isaac  Booth  Lewis 
(the  lady  whose  name  has  been  chosen  for  the 
Waterbury,  Connecticut,  Chapter  of  Daughters 
of  the  American  Revolution). 

After  Mr.  Porter's  departure  Mrs.  Porter  said 
to  Sybil,  "You  remember  how  it  was  two  years 
ago  at  the  Danbury  alarm,  how  we  were  left 
without  a  crumb  in  the  house  and  fairly  went 
hungry  to  bed.  I  think  I'd  better  stir  up  a  few 
extra  loaves  of  rye  bread  and  make  some  more 
cake.  You'd  better  call  up  Phyllis  and  Nancy 
and  tell  them  to  let  the  washing  go  and  help  me." 

Phyllis  and  Nancy  were  filled  with  astonish- 
ment and  awe  at  the  command  to  leave  the  wash- 
ing and  bake,  for,  during  their  twenty  years'  ser- 
vice in  the  house,  nothing  had  ever  been  allowed 
to  stay  the  progress  of  Monday's  washing. 

Before  mid-day  another  messenger  came  tear- 
ing up  the  New  Haven  road  and  demanded  a 
fresh  horse  in  order  to  continue  the  journey  to 
arouse  help  and  demand  haste.  He  brought  the 
half-past  nine  news  from  New  Haven  that  fifteen 
hundred  men  were  marching  from  West  Haven 
Green  to  the  bridge,  that  women  and  children 
were  escaping  to  the  northward  and  westward 
with  all  the  treasure  that  they  could  carry,  or 
13 


1 86      A  Day  and  a  Night  in  the  Old  Porter  House. 

bur}'  on  the  way,  because  every  horse  in  the  town 
had  been  taken  for  the  defence. 

He  had  not  finished  his  story,  when  from  the 
northward  the  hastily  equipped  militia  came  hur- 
rying down  the  road.  It  was  reported  that  mes- 
sengers had  been  posted  from  Waterbury  Centre 
to  Westbury  and  to  Northbury  ;  to  West  Farms 
and  to  Farming-bury — all  parts  of  ancient  Water- 
bury — and  soon  The  City,  as  it  was  called  in 
1779,  now  Union  City,  would  be  filled  with  militia- 
men. 

The  messenger  from  New  Haven  grew  impa- 
tient for  the  fresh  horse  he  had  asked  for.  While 
he  waited  on  the  porch,  Cato,  son  of  Phyllis, 
whose  duty  it  was  to  make  ready  his  steed,  sought 
Mrs.  Porter  in  the  kitchen. 

"  Where  that  New  Haven  fellow/'  he  asked, 
"  get  Massa's  horse.  He  say  he  come  from  New 
Haven,  and  he  got  the  horse  Ethel  went  away 
on." 

"  Are  you  sure,  Cato  ?  " 

"Sure's  I  know  Cato,"  said  the  boy,  "and  the 
horse  he  knew  me — be  a  fool  if  he  didn't." 

Mrs.  Porter  immediately  summoned  the  rider 
to  her  presence  and  learned  from  him  that  about 
four  miles  down  the  road  his  pony  had  given  out 
under  haste  and  heat;  that  he  had  met  a  boy  who, 
pitying  its  condition,  had  offered  an  exchange  of 
animals,  provided  the  courier  would  promise  to 
leave  his  pony  at  the  Porter  Inn  and  get  a  fresh 
horse  there. 


A  Day  and  a  Night  in  the  Old  Porter  House.     187 

"Just  like  Ethel!"  said  Polly.  "He'll  dally 
all  day  now,  while  that  horse  gets  rested  and  fed, 
or  else  he'll  go  on  foot.  I  wonder  if  I  couldn't 
catch  him  !  " 

"  Polly,"  said  Mrs.  Porter,  "  don't  you  leave 
this  house  to-day  without  my  permission.'' 

Poor  Mrs.  Porter !  Truman,  her  eldest  son, 
had  gone.  He  was  sixteen  and  had  been  a 
"  trained "  soldier  for  more  than  six  months ; 
that,  the  mother  expected  ;  but  Ethel,  only  four- 
teen, and  full  of  daring  and  boyish  zeal !  Stephen 
also,  the  youngest,  and  the  baby,  being  but  ten 
years  old — he  had  not  yet  returned  from  "stir- 
ring up  the  Hotchkisses."  Had  he  followed 
Captain  Gideon? 

"  Ethel  is  too  far  ahead,"  sighed  Polly.  "  I 
couldn't' catch  him  now,  even  if  mother  would  let 
me  ;  but  here  comes  Uncle  Phineas  in  his  regi- 
mentals, and  Aunt  Melicent  and  Polly  and  little 
Melicent,  and  O  !  what  a  crowd  !  I  can't  see  for 
the  dust !  It's  better  than  the  celebration.  ItTs 
so  real,  so  'strue  as  you  live  and  breathe  and 
everything." 

Polly  ran  to  the  front  door.  At  that  day  it 
opened  upon  a  porch  that  extended  across  the 
house  front.  This  porch  was  supported  by  a  line 
of  white  pillars,  and  a  rail  along  its  front  had 
rings  inserted  in  it  to  which  a  horseman  could, 
after  dismounting  beneath  its  shelter,  secure  his 
steed.  Long  ago,  this  porch  was  removed  and 
the  house  itself  was  taken  from  the  roadside  on 


1 88     A  Day  and  a  Night  in  the  Old  Porter  House. 

the  plain  below,  because  of  a  great  freshet,  and 
removed  to  its  present  location.  The  history  of 
that  porch,  of  the  men  and  women  who  dis- 
mounted beneath  its  shelter,  or  who,  footsore  and 
weary,  mounted  its  steps,  would  be  the  history  of 
the  country  for  more  than  a  century,  for  the  men 
of  Waterbury  were  in  every  enterprise  in  which 
the  colonies  were  engaged  ;  but  this  is  the  record 
of  a  single  day  in  its  eventful  life,  and  we  must 
return  to  the  porch,  where  Polly  is  welcoming 
Mrs.  Melicent  Porter  with  the  words :  "  Mother 
will  be  so  glad  you  have  come,  Aunt  Melicent, 
for  Ethel  has  gone  off  to  New  Haven  and  he's 
miles  ahead  of  catching,  and  Stephen  hasn't  got 
back  yet  from  'rousing  the  Alarm  company. 
Mother  wouldn't  say  a  word,  but  she  has  got  her 
mouth  fixed  and  I  know  she's  afraid  he's  gone, 
too.  I  don't  know  what  father  will  do  when  he 
finds  it  out." 

"  You  go,  now,"  said  Mrs.  Porter,  "  and  tell 
your  mother  that  your  father  staid  to  go  to  the 
mill.  He  will  not  be  here  for  some  time." 

While  Polly  went  to  the  kitchen  with  the  mes- 
sage, Mrs.  Melicent  alighted  from  her  horse  and, 
assisting  her  little  daughter  Melicent  from  the 
saddle,  said :  "  You  are  heavier  to-day,  Milly, 
than  you  were  when  I  threw  you  to  the  bank 
from  my  horse  when  it  was  floating  down  the 
river.  I  couldn't  do  it  now.'' 

The  instant  Major  Porter  had  set  little  Polly 
Lewis  on  the  porch  Mrs.  Porter  was  beside  him, 


A  Day  and  a  Night  in  the  Old  Porter  House.     1 89 

begging  that  he  would  look  for  Ethel  and  care  for 
the  boy  if  he  found  him.  The  promise  was  given, 
and  looking  well  despite  the  uncommon  heat,  the 
Major,  in  all  the  glory  of  his  military  equipment, 
set  forth. 

From  that  moment  all  was  noise  and  call  and 
confusion  without.  Men  went  by  singly,  in 
groups,  in  squads,  in  companies,  mounted  and  on 
foot.  It  is  a  matter  of  public  record  that  twelve 
militia  companies,  with  their  respective  captains, 
went  from  Waterbury  alone  to  assist  New  Haven 
in  the  day  of  its  peril.  It  is  no  marvel  that  they 
set  off  with  speed,  for  the  horrors  of  the  Danbury 
burning  was  yet  fresh  in  memory. 

In  the  long  kitchen,  as  the  heated  hours  went 
by,  the  brick  oven  was  fired  again  and  again  until 
the  very  stones  of  the  chimney  expanded  with 
glowing  heat,  and  the  last  swallow  forsook  its 
ancient  nest  in  despair.  The  sun  was  in  the  west 
when  Mr.  Porter,  with  a  bag  of  wheat  on  one  side 
of  the  saddle  and  a  bag  of  rye  on  the  other, 
appeared  at  the  kitchen  entrance  and  summoned 
help  to  unload,  but  his  accustomed  helpers  were 
gone.  ,  Even  Cato,  the  reliable,  was  missing. 
Phyllis  and  Nancy  received  the  wheat  and  the 
rye. 

"  Mother,"  said  Mr.  Porter,  "  I  had  to  do  the 
grinding  myself— couldn't  find  a  man  to  do  it,  and 
I  knew  it  couldn't  be  done  here  to-day,  water's 
too  low.  Where  are  the  boys?"  he  questioned, 
as  he  entered  and  looked  around.  When  in- 


1 90      A  Day  and  a  Night  in  the  Old  Porter  House. 

formed,  his  sole  ejaculation  was,  "  I  ought  to 
have  known  that  boys  always  have  gone  and 
always  will  go  after  soldiers." 

"  Don't  worry,  mother,"  he  added  to  his  wife, 
as  she  stood  looking  wistfully  down  the  road. 

There  were  tears  in  her  eyes  as  she  said  :  "  Not 
a  boy  left." 

"  Why  yes,  mother,  here  comes  Stephen  and 
Stiles  Hotchkiss  up  the  road.  My  !  how  tired 
and  hot  the  boys  and  the  horses  do  look ! "  ex- 
claimed Polly. 

Stephen  waited  for  no  reprimand.  He  fore- 
stalled it  by  saying :  "  Captain  Hotchkiss  let 
Stiles  and  me  go  far  enough  to  see  the  British 
troops — way  off,  ever  so  far — but  we  saw  'em,  we 
did,  didn't  we,  Stiles  ?  " 

"  Come !  come  !  "  said  Mr.  Porter,  while  the 
lad's  mother  stood  with  her  hand  on  his  head. 
"  Stephen,  tell  us  all  about  it !  " 

"Captain  Hotchkiss  said  he  was  a  boy  once, 
and  if  we'd  promise  him  to  go  home  the  minute 
he  told  us  to,  he'd  take  us  along.  Well !  we  kept 
meeting  folks  running  away  from  New  Haven, 
with  everything  on  'em  but  their  heads. %  One 
woman  was  lugging  a  lot  of  salt  pork,  '  because 
she  couldn't  bear  to  have  the  Britishers  eat  it  all 
up;'  and  another  woman  was  carrying1  away  a 
lot  of  candles  hanging  by  a  string,  and  the  sun 
had  melted  the  last  drop  of  tallow,  leaving  the 
wicks  dangling  against  the  tallow  on  her,  dress, 
but  she  didn't  know  it ;  and  mother,  would  you 


A  Day  and  a  Night  in  the  Old  Porter  House.     191 

believe  it — Mr.  Timothy  Atwater  told  Captain 
Hotchkiss  that  he  met  a  woman  whom  he  knew 
hurrying  out  of  town  with  a  cat  in  her  arms. 
When  he  asked  her  where  her  children  were,  she 
said,  '  Why,  at  home  I  suppose.'  '  Well,'  said  Mr. 
Atwater,  '  hadn't  you  better  leave  the  cat  and  go 
back  and  get  them  ? '  And  she  said,  '  Perhaps 
she  had,'  and  went  back  for  'em." 

"What  became  of  the  cat?"  asked  Mrs.  Meli- 
cent  Porter. 

"  Why,  Aunt  Melicent,  how  nice ! "  cried 
Stephen,  running  back  to  the  porch  and  return- 
ing with  a  cat  in  his  arms. 

"  Pve  fetched  her  to  you.  I  knew  you  loved 
cats  so !  Here  she  is,  black  as  ink,  and  she  stuck 
to  the  saddle  every  step  of  the  way  like  a  true 
soldier's  cat.  I  was  afraid  she'd  run  away  when 
I  took  her  off  the  saddle,  and  I  hid  her.  You 
know  mother  don't  like  cats  around  under  her 
feet." 

In  a  minute  pussy  was  on  the  floor,  and  the  last 
drop  of  milk  in  the  house  was  set  before  her  by 
little  Polly  Lewis.  Little  Melicent  cooed  softly 
to  her,  while  Stephen  and  Stiles  went  on  with 
their  story, — from  which  it  was  learned  that  the 
boys  had  gone  within  a  mile  of  Hotchkisstown 
(now  Westville),  where,  from  a  height,  they  had 
a  view  of  the  British  troops.  The  lads  were 
filled  with  admiration  of  the  marching,  "  as 
though  it  was  all  one  motion,"  of  the  "  mingling 
colors  of  the  uniforms  worn,  as  the  bright  red  of 


1 92      A  Day  and  a  Night  in  the  Old  Porter  House. 

the  English  Foot  Guards  blended  with  the  graver 
hues  of  the  dress  worn  by  the  German  merce- 
naries," and  of  "the  waving  line  of  glittering 
bayonets." 

"  We  didn't  see,"  said  Stephen,  "  but  just  one 
flash  of  musketry,  because  Stiles's  father  said  we 
must  start  that  instant  for  home,  and  he  told 
Stiles  to  stay  here  until  morning,  and  we  haven't 
had  a  mouthful  to  eat  since  breakfast,  and  its  been 
the  hottest  day  that  ever  was,  and  I'm  tired  to 
death." 

"And  the  cows  are  on  the  hill  and  nobody  here 
to  fetch  them  down,"  sighed  Mr.  Porter. 

"  Such  a  lot  of  captains  waiting  to  see  you, 
father  !  "  announced  Polly.  "  There's  Captain 
Woodruff  and  Captain  Castle  and  Captain  Rich- 
ards and  a  Fenn  captain  and  a  Garnsey  captain. 
I  forget  the  rest."  The  captains  invaded  the 
kitchen  itself,  declaring  that  it  being  Monday  in 
the  week,  every  householder  had  been  short  of 
provisions  for  the  emergency — that  every  inn  on 
the  way  and  many  a  private  house  had  been 
unable  to  provide  enough  for  so  many  men,  and 
what  could  they  have  at  the  Porter  Inn  ? 

Polly  disappeared.  Before  her  father  had  con- 
sidered the  matter  she  had,  assisted  by  her  Aunt 
Melicent  and  Polly  Lewis,  seized  from  the  pantry 
shelves  all  that  they  could  carry,  and  going  by  a 
rear  way,  had  hidden  on  the  garret  stairs  a  big 
roast  of  veal,  one  of  lamb,  and  enough  bread  and 
pies  for  family  requirements,  and  still  the  pantry 


A  Day  and  a  Night  in  the  Old  Porter  House.     193 

shelves  seemed  amply  filled.  "  I'm  not  going  to 
have  Ethel  come  home  in  the  night  and  find  noth- 
ing left  for  him  I  know,  and  the  hungry  boys  fast 
asleep  and  tired  out  on  the  kitchen  settle  will 
come  to  life  ravenous.  Wonder  if  I  hadn't  better 
be  missing  just  now  and  go  fetch  the  cows  down. 
Father  would  have  asthma  all  night  if  he  tried 
it,"  said  Polly  to  her  aunt;  and  up  the  hill  Polly 
went  accompanied  by  little  Polly — while  Mrs. 
Porter  stood  by  and  saw  the  fruits  of  her  hard 
day's  work  vanish  out  of  sight. 

"Pray  leave  something  for  your  own  house- 
hold,'' she  ventured  to  intercede  at  last.  "Don't 
forget  that  we  have  four  guests  of  our  own  for 
the  night ;"  but  Mr.  Porter,  rather  proud  to  show 
that,  however  remiss  others  had  been,  the  Porter 
Inn  was  prepared  for  emergencies,  had  already 
bidden  Nancy  and  Phyllis  fetch  forth  the  last 
loaf." 

"Like  one  for  supper,"  ventured  Nancy,  as  her 
master  carefully  examined  the  empty  larder,  hop- 
ing to  find  something  more.  As  the  last  captain 
from  Northbury  started  on  the  night  journey  for 
New  Haven,  Mr.  Porter  faced  his  wife.  "  Now 
Thomas  Porter,"  she  said,  "you  can  go  hungry 
to  bed,  but  what  can  I  do  for  my  guests  and  the 
children  and  the  rest  of  the  household  ?  " 

Mr.  Porter  scratched  his  head — a  habit  when 
profoundly  in  doubt — and  said  :  "  1  must  fetch  the 
cows  !  It's  most  dark  now,"  and  set  forth,  to  find 
that  Polly  had  them  all  safely  in  the  cattle  yard. 


194      A  Day  and  a  Night  in  the  Old  Porter  House. 

"  I  suppose,  father,"  said  Polly,  "  that  we've 
got  to  live  on  milk  to-night.  I  thought  so  when 
I  heard  you  parleying  with  the  captains.  So  I 
thought  I'd  get  the  cows  down."  As  Polly  entered 
the  house,  she  saw  a  lady  and  two  girls  of  about 
her  own  age,  to  whom  her  mother  was  saying : 
"  We  will  give  you  shelter,  gladly,  but  my  hus- 
band has  just  let  the  militia  you  met  just  below 
have  the  last  morsel  of  cooked  food  in  our  house, 
and  we've  nothing  left  for  ourselves  but  milk  for 
supper." 

"  Mother,"  said  Polly,  stepping  to  the  front ; 
"  we  have  plenty  !  I  looked  out  for  you  before 
father  got  to  the  pantry.  I  made  journeys  to  the 
garret  stairs,  several  of  them,  and  Aunt  Melicent 
and  Polly  Lewis  helped  me.  It  is  all  right  for 
the  lady  to  stay." 

The  lady  in  question  was  Mrs.  Thankful  Pun- 
derson  and  her  twin  daughters,  girls  of  twelve 
years,  who  had  escaped  from  New  Haven  just  as 
the  British  troops  reached  Broadway,  and  the 
riot  and  plunder  and  killing  began.  "  I  hoped," 
she  said,  "  to  reach  the  house  of  my  husband's 
sister,  Mrs.  Zachariah  Thompson,  in  Westbury, 
but  Anna  and  Thankful  are  too  tired  to  walk 
further  to-night,  and  the  horse  can  carry  but  two. 
It  is  getting  late,  and  I  am  so  thankful  to  stay." 

As  Mr.  Porter  stood  on  the  porch  looking  down 
the  road  for  the  next  arrival,  hoping  to  learn 
some  later  news  and  perhaps  to  hear  Ethel's 


A  Day  and  a  Night  in  the  Old  Porter  House.     195 

cheery  call  in  the  distance,  Polly  said  :  "  Father, 
will  you  let  me  be  innkeeper  to-night?  " 

"  Gladly,  Polly,  with  nothing  to  keep  and  not  a 
room  to  spare,"  was  his  reply. 

"Then  I'll  invite  you  to  supper,  and  mind,  if  the 
ministers  themselves  come,  they  can't  have  a  bite 
to-night,  for  I'm  the  keeper." 

"  I  suppose  you've  made  us  some  hasty  pudding 
while  the  milking  was  going  on/'  he  said,  as 
Polly,  preceding  her  father  for  once,  went  before, 
and  opened  the  door  upon  a  table  abundantly 
supplied,  and  laid  for  twelve. 

At  the  table  Mr.  Porter  told,  for  the  benefit  of 
Mrs.  Melicent  Porter  and  Mrs.  Punderson,  some 
of  the  events,  both  pathetic  and  tragic,  that  had 
occurred  in  the  old  house  during  his  boyhood 
and  youth,  and  Mrs.  Melicent  Porter  told  again 
the  events  of  the  day  in  June — only  a  year  before 
— wherein  the  battle  of  Monmouth  had  been 
fought  near  her  New  Jersey  home,  and  she  had 
spent  the  day  in  doing  what  she  could  to  relieve 
the  sufferings  of  men  so  spent  with  battle  and 
heat  and  wounds  that  they  panted  to  her  door 
with  tongues  hanging  from  their  mouths ;  also  of 
her  perilous  journey  from  New  Jersey  to  Con- 
necticut on  horseback,  accompanied  by  Lieuten- 
ant-Colonel Baldwin,  her  father — during  which 
journey  it  was,  that  she  had  thrown  her  daughter 
Melicent  in  safety  from  her  horse  to  the  bank  of 
the  river  they  were  fording,  while  the  animal, 
having  lost  its  footing,  was  going  down  the  current. 


196      A  Day  and  a  Night  in  the  Old  Porter  House. 

While  these  things  had  been  in  the  telling, 
Polly  had  slipped  from  the  table  unnoticed,  and 
had  lighted  every  lamp  that  could  brighten  the 
house  front  and  serve  to  guide  to  its  porch.  The 
last  lamp  was  just  alight  when  Polly's  guests 
began  to  arrive.  She  half  expected  soldiers,  and 
refugees  came.  It  seemed  to  her  that  every 
family  in  New  Haven  must  be  related  to  every 
family  in  Waterbury — so  many  women  and  chil- 
dren came  in  to  rest  themselves  before  continu- 
ing the  journey  and  "to  wait  until  the  moon 
should  rise,1'  for  the  evening  was  very  dark,  and 
oh!  the  stories  that  each  fresh  arrival  brought ! 
They  filled  the  group  that  came  in  to  listen  with 
fear  and  agony.  New  Haven  was  very  near  to 
Waterbury  in  that  day.  The  inhabitants  there 
were  closely  connected  with  the  inhabitants  here, 
and  their  peril  and  distress  was  a  common  woe. 
Little  Stiles  Hotchkiss  cried  himself  to  sleep  that 
night,  fearing  that  one  of  the  three  Hotchkisses, 
reported  killed,  might  be  his  father. 

Polly  acted  well  her  part.  To  the  children  she 
gave  fresh  milk  ;  to  their  elders  she  explained  that 
the  militia  had  taken  their  supplies,  while  she 
made  place  to  receive  two  or  three  invalids  who 
could  go  no  further,  by  giving  up  her  own  room. 

"  You'll  let  me  lie  on  the  floor  in  your  room, 
Aunt  Melicent,  I  know,"  she  said,  "for  the  poor 
lady  is  so  old  and  so  feeble  ;  I'm  most  sure  she  is 
a  hundred.  She  came  in  a  chaise  and  wanted  to 
get  up  to  Parson  Leavenworth's,  but  she  just 
can't.  She  can't  hold  up  her  head." 


A  Day  and  a  Night  in  the  Old  Porter  House.     197 

It  was  near  midnight  when  the  refugees  set 
forth  for  the  Center,  Mr.  Porter  himself  acting  as 
guide.  After  that  time,  the  sleepy  boys  and  the 
entire  household  having  taken  themselves  to  bed, 
the  old  house  was  left  to  the  night,  with  its  silence 
and  its  chill  dampness  that  always  comes  up  from 
the  river,  that  goes  on  "  singing  to  us  the  same 
bonny  nonsense/'  despite  our  cheer  or  our 
sorrow.  Again,  and  yet  again  through  the  night, 
doors  opened  and  two  mothers  stepped  out  in  the 
moonlight  to  listen,  hoping — hoping  to  hear  sound 
of  the  coming  of  the  boys,  but  only  the  lone  cry 
of  the  whippoorwill  was  borne  on  the  air. 

"  Tears  like,"  said  Phyllis  to  Mrs.  Porter  in  the 
morning,  "  the  whippoorwills  had  lots  to  say  last 
night;  talked  all  night  so's  you  couldn't  hear 
nothing  'tall." 

"Phyllis,''  said  Mrs.  Porter,  "there  was  noth- 
ing else  to  hear,  but  we  shall  know  soon." 

Polly  came  down,  bringing  her  checked  linen 
apron  full  of  eggs  for  breakfast.  "  I  thought, 
mother,"  she  said,  "  that  you'd  leave  yourself 
without  an  egg  yesterday,  so  I  looked  out.  Isn't 
it  handy  to  have  them  in  the  house?  Haven't 
heard  a  single  cackle  this  morning  yet,  but  yes- 
terday was  a  remarkable  day  everyway.  I  be- 
lieve the  hens  knew  the  British  were  coming. 
Did  you  ever  see  such  eggs  ?  Wonder  if  my  old 
lady  is  awake  yet !  Guess  I'll  carry  up  some  hot 
water  for  her  and  find  out." 


198      A  Day  and  a  Night  in  the  Old  Porter  House. 

Polly  poured  the  water  deftly  from  the  big  iron 
tea-kettle  hanging  from  the  crane  and  hurried 
away  with  it,  only  to  return  with  such  haste  that 
she  tripped  on  the  threshold,  broke  the  pitcher 
and  sent  the  water  over  everything  it  could  reach. 
"  Mother,"  she  said,  recovering  herself,  "  Parson 
Leavenworth  will  be  here  to  breakfast.  He's 
coming  down  the  road  with  father.  My  old  lady 
will  feel  honored,  won't  she?  I  know  he's  come 
for  her.  Phyllis,  any  more  hot  water  to  spare  ? 
It's  so  good  to  take  out  wrinkles ;  she'll  miss  it,  I 
know." 

The  sun  had  not  climbed  over  Great  Hill  when 
breakfast  was  over,  and  the  last  guest  of  the 
night  had  gone.  Mrs.  Punderson's  daughter 
Anna  rode  behind  the  Rev.  Mark  Leavenworth 
on  his  horse,  Thankful  with  Mrs.  Punderson,  the 
old  lady  in  the  chaise,  and  even  Stiles  had  gal- 
loped away  toward  the  east,  and  yet  not  a 
traveler  on  the  road  had  brought  tidings  from 
New  Haven.  The  group  on  the  porch  watching 
the  departure  had  not  dispersed  when  Polly's  ears 
caught  a  strain  floating  up  the  river  valley.  She 
listened.  She  ran.  She  clasped  her  mother  in 
her  arms.  She  kissed  her.  She  whispered  in 
her  ear,  "  I  hear  him  !  He's  coming!  Ethel  is; 
and  Cato  is  with  him  !"  she  cried  out,  embracing 
Phyllis  in  her  joy.  The  two  mothers — the  one 
white,  the  other  black  ;  the  one  free,  the  other  in 
bonds — went  to  listen.  They  stood  side  by  side 
on  the  porch  ;  tears  fell  from  their  eyes,  tears  that 


A  Day  and  a  Night  in  the  Old  Porter  House.     199 

through  all  the  years  science  has  failed  to  distin- 
guish, the  one  from  the  other.  Ethel's  cheery 
call  rang  clear  and  clearer.  Cato's  wild  cadence 
grew  near  and  nearer,  but  when  the  boys  rode  up 
beside  the  porch,  Mrs.  Porter  was  on  her  knees  in 
the  little  bed-room  off  the  parlor,  and  Phyllis  was 
in  the  kitchen.  New  England  mothers,  both  of 
them  !  Their  sorrows  they  could  bear ;  their  joys 
they  hid  from  sight. 

WATERBURY,  CONN., 
September,  1898. 


